


Good Night my Friend

by WritersKitten



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Bromance, Crossover, F/M, History, Human Names, Implied HongIce, Implied LietPol, M/M, possibly, volunteering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 46,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersKitten/pseuds/WritersKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wendy Morton is twelve years, and is going to the Games. At the same time, Berwald Oxenstierna, Lukas Bondevik, Arthur Kirkland, Francis Bonnefoy, Alfred F. Jones, Ludwig Belischmidt and Feliciano Vargas are reaped to the Games as well. Promises are made, secrets revealed; Berwald will return to his beloved Timo; Lukas will come back to Emil and Mikkel; Ludwig will return to his brother and father; Alfred will make sure Wendy does not die. However, only one can keep the promise. Who will be the last standing tribute?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. District 6

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here I am again, with yet another fanfiction. This time, however, I will try to break your heart. That was a joke. But honestly, be careful if you decide to continue reading.  
> This was all inspired by a conversation between me and Anniss, so I will have to thank her especially for inspiration to do this. Also, I have to thank LoStranoTizio on DeviantArt for helping me with certain violent scenes and gross descriptions. And, of course, Ida Laclan on DeviantArt for reading and support.
> 
> The cover of the story can be found here --> http://katrinelaclyon.deviantart.com/art/Good-Night-my-Friend-518817012
> 
> Hetalia © Himaruya Hidekaz  
> Hunger Games © Suzanne Collins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wendy Morton - Wy  
> Ralph Morton - Australia  
> Kyle Morton - New Zealand  
> Matthew Williams Jones - Canada  
> Alfred F. Jones - America

Ralph kneels before her, gently straightening her small, pale red dress. He fluffs up the white scarf around her neck. It is Wendy Morton’s first reaping. She is nervous, to say the least, but seeing her eldest brother, Ralph, so solemn, makes the knot of nerves in her stomach go even tighter.

“Hey, the chance is one to, what, thousand and something?” she says, putting on her best smile. She wants Ralph to smile. “The possibility of being reaped is like one in a million.”

Ralph sighs, and his hands fall to his lap. Then he gets to his feet and forces a smile. “Of course. How stupid of me to worry about you, little rascal.”

Wendy smiles a little wider, this time also a little more natural. Ralph is 18 years old. His last reaping. He takes her hand and leads her towards the door where her other brother, Kyle at 16, is waiting, casting nervous glances towards the street outside. When they approached, he gives them a pale smile. “Ready to go?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

Ralph nods and pushes up the door. Then they are outside. Kyle catches Wendy’s other hand. She feels reassured at having them both there, beside her. Nothing can go wrong. Not today. Today, there will be just another reaping, then they will go home and be joyful that none of them are going to the Games.

Making it to the square, Wendy is left standing in the back of the crowd along with other twelve-years-old, while Ralph and Kyle go further forth. Wendy glances about. The faces around her mirror her own feelings. Boys and girls alike. She sees one of her friends and tries to give a reassuring smile. It turns out more like a grimace.

The clock strikes two. The mayor steps up to tell the story of Panem. Wendy has heard it many times. She has learnt of it in school, and heard it at every single reaping as far back as she can remember. The story is of no real interest to her. She fidgets slightly, feeling exposed in the enormous crowd. Then the escort is introduced. The name flies over Wendy’s head, and even when she tries, she does not remember it afterwards.

The escort says something. Sounds about as falsely friendly as anyone. Wendy catches herself searching for her brothers in the crowd. She finds Kyle glancing back at her. He gives her a reassuring smile. _It’ll be okay_ , his eyes seem to say. Ralph’s gaze is glued to the glass balls, as though he is willing them not to hold Wendy, Kyle or his own name.

“Ladies first!” the escort says. Even from her place at the back of the crowd, Wendy sees the hand that digs into the glass ball. Fishes around for some seconds. Brings up a slip of paper. Goes to the podium and reads out the name. “Wendy Morton!”

Wendy’s eyes widen. She must had heard wrong. What was it she had said earlier? One in a million? This had to be a mistake.

But as she stands there, petrified, the escort repeats, “Wendy Morton.”

She swallows. The crowd makes space for her and she forces her feet to move towards the stage. Climbs the steps. When she steps up beside the escort, she gets some polite applause, but people murmur unhappily. A twelve-years-old in the Games? She would be dead before the first day was over. The thought is so sudden, so bone chilling, she gasps for breath. She scans the crowd, desperate to hear the words, “I volunteer.” No one steps forth. Then she sees Ralph. He is just some meters away. If she wanted, she could throw herself off the podium, and he would catch her. Catch her and keep her safe from the horror she knows she will have to face if no one volunteers.

“Excellent!” the escort says. Disappears, then comes back with another slip of paper. “Matthew Williams Jones!”

"Who?" someone murmures beside Wendy.

A boy, maybe about Kyle’s age, comes forth. There is a look of resignation at his face, as though he has been expecting this. She knows him. Matthew is one of Kyle’s friends, as is Matthew’s twin brother. He comes up and stands barely a meter away from Wendy. She notices he glances sideways at her, and there is a look of pain at his face.

“I volunteer!” comes a shout from somewhere in the crowd.

Wendy’s gaze finds Kyle, and beside Kyle, speeding towards the podium, is Matthew’s twin, Alfred. Matthew looks as though he wants to protest, but Alfred glares at him.

“I volunteer as a tribute instead of Matthew”, he repeats, putting weight on “instead”.

“Wonderful”, the escort says with a nod. Matthew is replaced by Alfred. “And your name is…?”

“Alfred F. Jones.”

“Ah…” The escort breaths out slowly, a smile playing with the thin lips. “I bet that was your brother, right? Could not let him have all the glory.”

“He’s more prone to die than I am”, Alfred replies with shrug. How can he take it all that easily? “I just don’t want him to die.” Then he flashes a grin.

“Wendy Morton and Alfred F. Jones!” the escort declares with a smile. “Tributes of district 6!”

The anthem plays. When it finishes, Wendy and Alfred are escorted into the Justice Building. Alfred has a look on his face that tells he badly wants to say something, but not with people around. Then they are placed in separate rooms. Wendy says nothing as the door is closed behind her. Because she has nothing to say. Her head feels like a cloud. There is nothing in it. Impressions only pass in brief moments.

She has no idea of how much time goes by, before the doors behind her burst open. She is lifted up by strong arms, and the familiar scent of Ralph engulfs her. Wendy twists in his arms, throwing her own thin ones around his neck and burying her face in his neck. She tries not to think of the fact that this might be the last time they see each other. Next time, she might be in a coffin.

She bites her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Trembling like Ralph is. Frowning, she pulls away. She has never seen her brother cry. Kyle could cry if something really bad had happened, but Ralph never cried. Now Ralph is the one crying. Big, salty tears that rolls down his face.

Kyle appears beside them, gently taking Wendy’s face in his hands. He is not crying. Is it because Ralph is crying? _Is Kyle being strong for all of us?_ “You must be careful”, Kyle says earnestly, making sure they have eye contact. “Do you understand, Wendy?”

Wendy nods.

“Remember all of what Ralph has taught you of fighting and survival. You must stay strong, and stay out of the big guys’ sight. Be quick, like the birds you like to watch.”

Wendy nods again, then smiles brokenly. “You don’t believe I’ll see you again, do you?”

A sob escapes Ralph’s lips.

Kyle forces a smile, blinking rapidly. “You are stronger than you look”, he then whispers. He says nothing more, and instead embraces both Wendy and Ralph.

They say little more, only reassuring words. Ralph gives Wendy a hair band with a flower attached to it. A flower that matches her dress perfectly. No one mentions that this will be the last time they are all together. When the peacekeepers say the time is up, Wendy smiles bravely at her siblings. “I’ll live!” she says. “I’ll come back to you, as the victor, and we’ll never have to worry again!”

Ralph looks at the verge of breakdown. Kyle holds on tightly to Ralph’s arm and returns her smile, even though his eyes are tinged with pain.

“I’ll be strong, just you see”, Wendy promises as the door closes behind them and she is left alone again.

* * *

The moment Alfred is alone, he collapses into the closest armchair. He forces himself to breath evenly. Matthew is safe. And still, he sees clearly Matthew’s face before him as Matthew climbs down from the podium. Could Matthew have handled the Games? _No_. Matthew would not kill a flea, so how would he do in a place where he had to kill people to survive?

Alfred breaths out one last time, before the door opens. He stands up slowly. Matthew comes in, but refuses to look at him.

Alfred smiles tentatively. He holds out a hand towards Matthew. “Hey, bro…?”

Finally, Matthew looks at him. His violet eyes are scorching with emotions. “Idiot”, Matthew states, but approaches slowly. “Why are you so stupidly foolish? Could you not just, for once in your whole life, believe I could actually do something else than be the best in class?”

Alfred blinks, slightly dumbfounded, but then the words sink inn. “Look, Mattie, this is not about not believing in you, it’s-”

“Of course, it’s not about me. It’s about the fame right? Alfred the Hero!” Matthew says sarcastically. “You’ve always wanted to be the hero, and now you have a chance to do it.” The punch to the shoulder catches Alfred off guard, and he grunts softly in surprise and pain. “Idiot!” Matthew exclaims, before pulling Alfred into a tight hug. “I hate that you always have to be so heroic.”

Alfred lets out a soft breath of relief, then wraps his arms around Matthew.

“You have to be careful”, Matthew whispers. “Don’t save people who cannot be saved, all right? Don’t jump into a fight without thinking it over first. Stay safe.”

Alfred chuckles. “Stay safe? What a stupid thing to say when I have to fight anyway.”

Matthew’s arms around him tightens, and he knows there is nothing more to be said between them. When they break free from each other, Matthew looks him directly in the eyes. “Don’t promise anything. I don’t want to…” His voice breaks, and he turns away.

“It’s okay”, Alfred replies, squeezing Matthew’s shoulder. “No promises.”

After Matthew leaves, Alfred gets a visitor he did not expect. It is Ralph, Kyle and Wendy’s brother. Ralph’s eyes are red and puffy, and his cheeks are red. He is sniffling a little, but the determination in his face is impossible to overlook.

“Alfred”, Ralph begins, then takes a deep breath. “Look, mate, can you look after Wendy in there? I know it’s a lot to ask, but if your friendship with Kyle matters at all, will you?”

“Of course”, Alfred says, without hesitation. The moment he had seen Wendy go up there, and no one had volunteered, he had known she was doomed. “I’ll do whatever I can for you.”

Ralph looks as though a heavy burden falls off his shoulders, and he laughs breathlessly. “Honestly, will you?”

“Yes!” Alfred grabs Ralph’s hand in a firm grip, locking it as though they were having a contest of strength. “I will look after Wendy. I promise.”

Some moments pass in silence, then Ralph smiles an honest smile. “Thank you.”


	2. District 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Petra Oxenstierna - Sealand  
> Erland Oxenstierna - Ladonia  
> Timo Väinämöinen - Finland

In the morning of the reaping, Berwald wakes earlier than needed. His alarm clock is set to twelve o’clock, and still, when his eyes crack open, it is barely nine. He groans softly and throws an arm over his eyes to shield them from the light falling in between the curtains. That means he will have to walk around for five hours, carrying that nervous knot in his stomach. This will be his last reaping, and he would have been happy, had it not been for his younger siblings, Petra and Erland, who would have their second reaping this year.

“Berwald!” The knocking on the door, along with Petra’s insistent voice, reminds him that he has promised to help her choose what to wear for the occasion. Had she only been a few years older, with a little more training behind her, he would not have worried as much.

“C’mon!” Petra insists, throwing herself against the door. “Why do you always lock your door?”

“Perhaps so that no one gets in”, Berwald replies gruffly and sits up. The duvet slides off his upper body and the cool morning air washes across him. He runs a hand through his hair, before picking up his glasses from the nightstand and putting them on.

“But Berwald”, Petra says teasingly, her voice drifting in through the keyhole. “I know that you get nightly visits from that other one. What was his name again? Tino?”

“Timo”, Berwald corrects, glad the door is between them so no one sees it when his cheeks heat up. It is true, that Timo occasionally drops by in the late evenings, and they go to his room, pretending to do what most parents like to call “teenager-talk”. It might be a little of that too, but mostly they do something that certainly cannot be described as “teenager-talk”.

“Are you up yet?” Petra persists.

Berwald gets out of bed and quickly puts on his clothes. He makes his bed, pulls aside the curtains and closes the window. Then he picks the clothes he will wear for the reaping. White shirt with silver pinstripes, dark trousers, black polished shoes. He considers some of the jackets, but decides to leave his clothing as it is.

“Beeerwaaald”, Petra complains on the other side of the door.

He crosses the room soundlessly and unlocks the door. Then he throws it open. Petra stumbles, surprised by the door suddenly being gone, and then Berwald has caught her. She squeals in delight when he lifts her up at his shoulder, and holds on to his arm.

“To my room!” she demands, pointing down the hallway.

The tiniest of smiles crosses Berwald’s lips as he walks towards the door.

About an hour later, after breakfast, Berwald heads out. It is strange, seeing district 2 as quiet as it is now. Everyone is at home, either sleeping in or preparing for the reaping. Passing the neighbour, he sees the two 14-year-old sons training with daggers in the back yard. Shaking his head, Berwald continues. It is not that district 2 rarely has a victor for the Games; it is just that he does not see how children would _want_ to go in there, knowing they might never return.

He turns down one of the narrower streets and continues towards the slightly poorer part of the district. Not much poorer, but one does notice a slight difference. The houses are a little shabbier, the gardens not as well kept, the people a little more blue.

Except one. It is a small house with only one floor, squeezed in between the rich and poor areas. It has a small but beautiful garden, and the owner often busies himself there, hands dirty from soil. At the moment, door and windows are open, as though the house is in need of airing.

Berwald does not bother with knocking but goes straight up to the entrance. He has been here often enough to call it a second home and come and go as he wishes. “Hello?” he calls.

A head pops out from the kitchen, soon followed by the rest of the body. Timo is smiling the sweetest of smiles, just as usual. He is a year younger than Berwald. Still only 17. The reason he lives alone, however, is because both his parents died. His mother died in labour, while his father died in a working accident about three years ago. For some while, Timo was allowed to live with Berwald’s family, until he had worked up enough money to buy this small house. It is still Berwald’s family who holds the responsibility of making sure Timo has everything, but Timo is a hard worker and can keep himself sustained.

“Good morning!” Timo beams. “Just in time for lunch.”

Berwald nods, not mentioning that he has just had breakfast. He follows Timo into the kitchen, where the delicious smell of pancakes hits him. “Can you afford that?” Berwald questions lightly, leaning against the counter while Timo turns the last pancake.

Timo laughs easily. “I spare money for a holiday, so I can have something good to eat!” He picks up one of the pancakes and tears a small piece. “Say ‘A’”, he orders.

Berwald does as he is told, and Timo places the piece of the pancake in his mouth. “You’re a good cook”, he comments after chewing and swallowing.

“Certain things improve when you live alone”, Timo replies. He continues chatting about the small pleasures of the day, and of what he has planned for the evening to celebrate that the new tributes has been chosen. At least that is what most families celebrate. Berwald and Timo celebrates that no one they know personally has been chosen.

The morning goes by far too quickly to Berwald’s liking. Noon finds them sitting in the living room, enjoying each other’s company where no one else can see. Timo looks as though he is about to fall asleep, his head in Berwald’s lap while Berwald plays with his hair.

“What would you do if I were reaped?” Timo suddenly asks, breaking the drowsy silence.

Berwald frowns slightly. “I’d rather not think about that.”

Timo does not press the matter, and new comfortable silence makes time appear to stand still. As two o’clock draws nearer, Berwald returns home to clean himself up and put on the nice clothes. It is Berwald’s job to make sure Petra and Erland get to the square in time for the reaping. Petra is wearing a rather adorable blue and white dress, and Erland wears a matching blue shirt and white trousers.

As they make their way down the street, Berwald grows more and more anxious by the step. A crowd starts to grow around them, until they come to the square. A podium is standing before the Justice Building, and four chairs where the Mayor, the escort and one male and one female earlier tribute are supposed to sit.

“Stick together”, Berwald tells Petra and Erland as he leaves them along with the other 13-year-old children, then heads to the very front. As he goes, he glances about, trying to spot Timo in the crowd.

Then the speech begins. Having heard it enough times to be tired of it, Berwald fixes his gaze on one of the small details of the carvings around the door of the Justice Building. Much more interesting. The voice of the Mayor is reduced to a hum in the background, and Berwald only snaps out of it when the escort, a Lady from the Capitol, steps up. She says the words of honour, before going to the glass ball that contains all the names of the girls between twelve and eighteen.

_Please_ , Berwald prays silently. _Not Petra._ He repeats the prayer to himself, until the escort is standing at the podium again, smoothing out the paper and reading in a clear voice, “Petra Oxenstierna!”

His blood freezes to ice and he spins around. He finds Petra’s thin form making her way towards the podium. Towards her death. No! Then she is standing there, just out of reach. Somebody has to volunteer. No one in their right mind would let Petra go to the Games. For the first time in his life, Berwald wishes he was a girl, only so he could take Petra’s place.

“Wonderful!” the escort says, patting Petra’s head. Then she is off to the other glass bowl. She digs into it, before returning to the podium. “And our male tribute is…” She takes a pause for effect, before reading, “Timo Väinämöinen!”

This has to be Berwald’s worst nightmare. Two of the people he cherishes most in the world, both going to the Games. It cannot be true. Has to be a nightmare. And still, as he watches, Timo walks towards the podium. He is trembling, his gaze searching frenetically for something to hold on to.

That is what breaks the spell on Berwald. “No!” He pushes through the crowd, catching Timo’s arm as Timo is about to climb the stairs to the podium. Everyone is looking at them. All the cameras are facing them.

He pulls Timo down, behind himself, just as he always has done. “I volunteer”, he says, making sure everyone hears it.

“Berwald, you-”

“Hush.”

The escort stares at him for a moment, her head slightly tilted. “This is not according to the protocol, but…”

“You can’t!” Timo exclaims, lacing onto Berwald’s arm. He is still shaking. “Please, don’t do it!”

“I can’t let you go, either”, Berwald murmurs, so quiet no one but Timo hears it.

Timo peeks up at him.

“Let go, Timo.” He carefully loosens Timo’s grip of his arm, and takes the opportunity to whisper, “I love you”, into Timo’s ear, before hurrying up at the podium. When he glances back, he finds Timo biting his lower lip and staring at the ground.

The escort gives him a curious glance, but then smiles. “And what is your name?”

“Berwald. Berwald Oxenstierna.”

A whisper flies through the crowd. Rarely does siblings go to the Games. Then the escort smiles, turns to the crowd and the cameras, and introduces them to all of Panem. Afterwards, things go by in a blur. Berwald lifts Petra into his arms and carries her into the Justice Building, surrounded by peacekeepers. Once inside, they are forced apart, put into different rooms. Now there is one hour when visitors are allowed to come. Ten minutes for each visitor.

Berwald sits down at the armrest of one of the plush armchairs and stares at one of the empty walls, waiting. Then the door opens. He barely has time to get up, before Timo knocks into him, their lips crashing together. He puts his hands on Timo’s shoulders, before carefully taking the slightly smaller face into his hands, softening their kiss.

It is salty. He can tell Timo is crying. When they break apart, Timo’s head falls against his shoulder. “Why?” Timo whispers.

“I love you”, Berwald simply replies, wrapping his arms around Timo.

“I could have gone. I could have fought. I know how to shoot an arrow. I can throw a dagger.” He turns his head slightly, so his words are muffled by Berwald’s shoulder. “Now it’s too late. Why do you love me so much you want to die instead of me?”

“You shouldn’t need to question it”, Berwald replies softly. “I’ll come back to you.”

“Promise?”

Berwald is quiet for a second, then nods slightly. “I promise.”

Timo breaks away, taking one of his hands in his. In Berwald’s open hand, Timo places a ring of silver. Nothing fancy, just a simple band that reflects light. “Will you… keep this?”

Berwald stares at Timo, as though for the first time seeing him properly. Sweet, shy, gentle Timo. He smiles and closes his hand around the ring. “Of course.” He places a light kiss at Timo’s forehead, then the nose, and finally the lips.

It is a last, bittersweet kiss.


	3. District 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano Vargas - Italy  
> Alice Vargas - Female Italy  
> Antonio Fernandes Carriedo - Spain  
> Julius Vargas - Ancient Rome  
> Iliana Karpusi - Female Greece

Feliciano stares at his own reflection. It is still an hour left until he has to leave, but there is something calming about wearing the dark trousers, the brown boots, the pale grey shirt and the red scarf. From the somewhat grimy mirror, amber eyes stare back. For a second, he can barely imagine he sees someone else staring back at him. Then it passes. His eyes fall shut and he turns away.

“Feli?”

Soft knocks to the doorframe tears him out of his thoughts, and he smiles wearily at the figure standing in the doorway. “Hi, Antonio. Alice.” Antonio has just turned twenty-one. He was out of the reaping three years ago. Alice is 17, just as Feliciano. He has known her since they were children – which is not very strange, seeing they are cousins.

Antonio glances about the shabby little room that Feliciano for seventeen years now has tried to make look better than it really is. Then Antonio enters and flops down at the bed.

Alice gives Feliciano a hug, which he gladly takes. When she pulls away, she asks, “How are you?”

Sitting down beside Antonio, with Alice at his other side, Feliciano smiles wryly. “I’ve been better. You?”

Alice laughs softly. “Same.”

“Antonio?”

“Just the same.”

They sit in silence for some while, but this is nothing new. They have done this plenty of times. Just sitting, being there for each other without saying anything. In the early mornings, at work, at home, at the pub, in the garden. Everywhere. Everywhere that carries some sort of memory.

Eventually, Antonio rises. “Happy Hunger Games…”

“… and may the odds…” Alice continues.

“… be ever in your favour.” Feliciano laughs softly at the old joke. As of recently, the odds has not been in his favour.

Antonio and Alice leaves to prepare themselves. With nothing left to do, Feliciano goes to the combined living room, dining room and kitchen. Grandpa Julius is sitting by the table, leafing through some old book. A cup of tea stands at the table beside him, but the tea has long since gone cold. The clock at the wall marks half past one.

“Will you accompany me to the square?” Feliciano asks quietly.

Grandpa Julius glances up, as though first now noticing his grandchild standing there, looking rather forlorn. “Of course”, he says and smiles warmly, getting up from the table. Upon approaching, his smile is replaced by a frown. “Are you all right?”

Feliciano turns his face away, but Grandpa Julius will have none of that. He pulls Feliciano into a tight embrace and strokes his hair. “I’m scared”, Feliciano finally admits. “Last year, when…” His voice falters, and he cannot make himself continue. Instead, he buries his face in Grandpa Julius’ chest.

“I know”, the older replies gently. “You have all the right to be. No one blames you.”

Saying nothing, Feliciano simply takes the comfort his grandfather can give. It is little, however, as Grandpa Julius also is trying to sooth his own fears. The fear that the family will be completely torn apart.

Pulling away, Feliciano says, “We should get going. Antonio and Alice will wonder where we are.”

“They will”, Grandpa Julius agrees.

They exit the house and head towards the square. The walk appears far too short to Feliciano’s liking. In fact, he would have preferred to walk and walk and walk – in eternity. As long as he would not need to stand there, in the large crowd that is centre of nervousness.

“Good luck”, Grandpa Julius whispers when they part.

“Thanks”, Feliciano replies, trying to put on the usual smile that use to light up the day of everyone who sees him. Then he merges with the crowd of scared children. Passing the twelve-years-old – the ones who have their first reaping – he feels excessively sorry for them. He remembers the first time he stood there, clinging to Lovino’s arm. Lovino had not even bothered to push him away as he always did when he though Feliciano became too clingy.

He makes his way forward to where the other at his age stand. Boys and girls alike. Some has faces hardened from past pain, while others are pale and trembling like aspen leafs. The nervousness of the reaping never really passes. It comes when you are twelve, and stays until you are eighteen and pass your last reaping. Then there are some years of relief, until you marry and get children of your own. If you are lucky, and the children survive the first three years, you then have nine years to enjoy, before that nervous knot is there again for another new seven years.

Feliciano turns his gaze and attention to the mayor as he retells the same old story of Panem; how it once was Northern America, how storms and fights changed the landmasses and the people left had to stick together to survive. Then the Dark Days, followed by the Treaty of Treason. Finally, the escort is introduced. It is the same one. Just as last year, and the year before that, and every year as far back as far as he remembers.

As far as Feliciano has heard, their escort is one of the most easy-going escorts. Now he goes to the podium and smiles at the crows. He says the usual words of how glad he is to be in district 10, before heading to the glass bowl containing the names of the girls. He wastes little time in choosing a slip, and comes back. “Iliana Karpusi”, he reads out, then glances out over the crowd.

A girl with somewhat messy brown hair and a dreamy expression comes forth. Two smaller children, both boys, dive under the fences that separate the family from the tributes and rush forward, clinging to her skirts. One of the eighteen-years-old ones quickly sweep both children up, his face looking as though it is made of stone. Then he ushers the girl forward, up at the podium and hands the children back to the parents.

His heart breaks at the sight, and Feliciano feels his eyes sting. He barely notices when the male name is read out. In fact, it would have passed him by, had he not recognized it.

“Feliciano Vargas.”

A murmur goes through the crowd, and people look about, searching for him. Carefully he moves through the crowd, towards the podium. Many there know him, if not by name, then by look. He has, after all, been around the district, helping people who were in need of aid. That was what he used to do for a living.

He climbs the steps and is standing beside the escort. For a moment the escort eyes him, frowning, then painful recognition crosses his face. He quickly masks it with a smile, and turns to the crowd.

“The tributes of district 10! Iliana Karpusi and Feliciano Vargas.”

Feliciano shakes hands with the Iliana Karpusi. Her gaze surveys him, and her eyes turn sad. “Bad luck, Vargas”, she murmurs, so quietly no one hears it.

Feliciano laughs softly. “You’re one to talk?”


	4. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig Belischmidt - Germany  
> Gilbert Beilscmidt - Prussia  
> Folkert Beilschmidt - Germania  
> Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary

Gilbert has never liked the reaping. Nor the Games. It all makes him sick. That he is forced to sit and watch children kill each other every single year does not help the least. He is very thankful that he is out of it. It is two years since he stood there last time, and he does not miss it the least.

His brother, Ludwig, has his last year of reaping.

Now, when he is pressing to the front together with their father, Folkert, he has to admit he is proud of Ludwig. Everyone else looks scared enough to piss themselves, but Ludwig stands there, straight in the back, his head held high.

They had spent the morning planning how to celebrate in the evening. It would have to be a big celebration, because they were out of the Games – for good.

His gaze drifts from Ludwig, to the girl standing beside him. The girl is Elizaveta. When they were children, they would often skip school just so they could hang out somewhere, fight or cause mischief. Then, when she came into middle school, she suddenly began refusing to spend time with him, in favour of making other friends and focus on school. They still talk on occasions. He would admit she has become a fine young woman.

Gilbert continues to watch her for some moments, before turning his attention to the mayor who finally has decided to hold his speech. It is a speech Gilbert connects with nervousness and fear. Fear, that his or his brother’s name may be pulled from the glass bowl, and nervousness because of all the ‘what if’s.

He begins fiddling with the edge of his shirt, but a glance from his father makes him stop. He pushes his hands into the pockets, forcing himself to keep still.

Eventually, the speech fades away, and the escort steps up. A woman with chemically white hair that looks like candyfloss, and just as white skin. Some words of honour, before she trots over to the glass bowl containing the girls’ names. She digs into it, seconds later pulling forth a slip.

Trotting back to the podium, she reads out the name. “Elizaveta Hedervary!”

Gilbert’s eyes widen. Then he sees Elizaveta’s shoulders sag slightly as she sighs. When she comes out from the crowd, it looks nearly as she was expecting to be the female tribute.

“Hurry up, sweetie!” the woman with the candyfloss-hair calls. “Haven’t got all day, have we?” She smiles a painfully false smile and pats Elizaveta on the head once Elizaveta is standing beside her. “Any volunteers? No? Excellent!”

She rushes off to the other glass bowl, plunging her hand into it.

_Please don’t let it be Ludwig. Please don’t let it be Ludwig_. Gilbert finds himself repeating the sentence, again and again. He bites the inside of his cheek as the escort chooses her slip and returns to the podium. “Ludwig Beilschmidt!”

If Gilbert was shocked to find Elizaveta chosen as a tribute, that was nothing. Nearly forgetting to breath, he removes his hands from his pockets to instead grip the fence tightly. “Damn”, he murmurs. Not Ludwig. Anyone but Ludwig. Why could he not be eighteen again, and able to volunteer for his brother? His lips form a thin line. Ludwig would have refused the volunteering and gone anyway. Proud, stubborn, stupid little brother.

He sees the woman lift her eyebrows at the sight of Ludwig. Then she flashes a smile towards the crowd and the cameras. “Elizaveta Hedevary and Ludwig Beilschmidt, tributes from district 5!”

Elizaveta and Ludwig shake hands, then the anthem plays. When it finishes, people start filing out of the square. Families are reunited, parents relieved they will keep their children for another year.

To Gilbert, this is absurd. Don’t they see, his own little brother is going in there, as well as his childhood friend? Even though they have had more winners than the lower districts, there are still the Careers. Ludwig and Elizaveta know some basics about fighting, but against the Careers? Gilbert knows what they can do, and he knows that Ludwig and Elizaveta stand little chance, unless they manage to prove themselves worthy an alliance with them.

He is barely aware of it, when his father pushes forth through the crowd, towards the Justice Building to demand to see Ludwig one last time. Gilbert hurries after, catching up with him. “Do they stand a chance?” he asks, only so that his father may hear.

Folkert shakes his head, frowning. “I don’t know. Not until we know the other tributes.”

Gilbert nods. Then, it hits him. Both Ludwig and Elizaveta will not come back. Only one. He feels himself grow cold. If Ludwig returns, Elizaveta is dead. If Elizaveta returns, Ludwig is dead. He bites the inside of his cheek so hard the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. He really should not be thinking like that. Ludwig above Elizaveta. Ludwig is family, no matter what.

The peacekeepers’ gazes weight heavy on Gilbert as they are shown to the room where Ludwig will be waiting. The door opens.

Ludwig is sitting there, staring at the table with an empty gaze. When they enter, however, he shoots up and comes towards them, quickly. Before Gilbert gets the chance of rush past his father to hug his brother, Ludwig is engulfed in Folkert’s arms. Funny, how Ludwig always seem so tall, but beside their father, appears small.

Folkert whispers soft words of comfort and encouragement, but Gilbert cannot hear exactly what is said. However, he sees how Ludwig grips the back of their father’s vest tightly.

Eventually, Folkert lets go of Ludwig, and Gilbert can see his brother’s face properly. Ludwig’s face is pale, nearly ashen. The pale blue eyes appear outstanding.

Gilbert fakes a smile and a laugh. “Bad luck, huh?”

“Like you would not believe”, Ludwig replies. “Take care of the dogs, will you?”

Gilbert blinks. He had not even though of Aster, Berlitz and Blackie. “Of course. They are a part of the family, right?”

“Right.”

“You know, had I been a little younger, I would’ve gone for you”, Gilbert informs, crossing his arms tightly.

There is silence for a moment, then Ludwig says hoarsely, “I know.”

And that is what breaks it. Gilbert uncrosses his arms, and they close the distance between each other. He wraps his arms tightly around Ludwig. Presses his face into Ludwig’s neck. Ludwig’s arms lay just as tight around him, and he feels the warm breath against his cheek.

“Heavens knows I’m going to miss you”, Gilbert whispers. “Your crappy jokes. How you always keep everything neat and tidy…” He trails off, then swallows. “It’s going to be empty when you’re gone.”

“I’ll try to come back”, Ludwig replies. “I can fight.”

“Of course you can”, Gilbert laughs. “You’re my brother, after all.”

Then, the ten minutes have suddenly passed. The door opens and one of the peacekeepers glares in at them. “Time’s up”, he grumbles.

Ludwig’s arms around Gilbert tightens for a brief second, before letting go. He steps back, putting on a stoic face. “Don’t mess up my things when I’m gone.”

“Don’t give up.” Gilbert quickly removes his necklace. It is a simple leather thread with a black iron cross on. He got it from their mother, long ago, when she was still around. Before she fell sick. It has always been a sort of good-luck charm. Now he hands it to Ludwig. “You’re allowed to have a token from your district. Wear this for me, will you?”

Ludwig nods and cradles it in his hand.

“Come on”, the peacekeeper urges.

“We are his closest family, and this is the last time we see him. Next time, he might return in a coffin!” their father explodes, glaring at the peacekeeper. “You might as well let us have this little time! It’s not like there is a line of people waiting to get in here!”

Gilbert snickers softly, and he sees the corners of Ludwig’s mouth rising slightly. “Live on, brother. I look forward to having a beer with you when you return.” He pats Ludwig on the shoulder, then brushes past their father who is still giving the peacekeeper a lecture.


	5. District 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lukas Bondevik - Norway  
> Emil Bondevik - Iceland  
> Mikkel Bondevik - Denmark  
> Michelle Laroche - Seychelles

Light plays across his face. He groans and rolls over on his stomach, burying his face in the makeshift mattress. The old blanket smells of salt, fish, seaweed and kelp. The bench is hard and he frowns slightly. The bench…

With a jolt, he sits up and glances about the room. He is in one of the boathouses standing along the shore of district 4. This one is not that well kept, but everything one would need to fix a boat is there, including a bench. It is the bench he has slept at. His hair has become tousled, and his back and neck hurts. How did he end up here?

Yes. The argument. It had been nothing out of place. His elder brother had said something overly stupid again, and he had only tried to shut him up. It had led to the argument. This time, however, their younger brother had been involved. He had left the house in fury, and walked without aim nor direction. Eventually he had wound up at the shore. He had found the loose board in the wall and crept into the boathouse. Then he had fallen asleep.

He gives the boathouse another glance. Nothing has changed much since he was there last time, even though that is a long time since. The old clock at the wall shows ten to two. He freezes.

_Shit_.

Quickly he slips off the bench he slept on and crosses the room. The only light is what falls in between irregular boards along the walls. He searches for the loose one, just at the bottom of the wall. After far too long, one of the boards he touches gives away slightly. He gives it a push and climbs through, finding himself at hands and knees in lush green grass. Putting the board back in place, he gets up from the ground.

_Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He makes his way up from the boathouse, towards the road that leads back to the settlement. He has overslept.

_Blasted shit._

He takes to his feet. Sprints down the street, dodging well dressed people who are headed towards the square. How could he oversleep? He was supposed to look after his younger brother today, too! Cursing himself repeatedly, Lukas Bondevik speeds up as he turns into the street where his house stands. He makes it to the house and pulls at the doorknob. It is locked. The house is abandoned.

His forehead falls against the door as he catches his breath. Mikkel must had taken Emil to the square, despite not being the most responsible brother in district 4.

Lukas gives himself another second to catch his breath, before starting running again. When he makes it to the square, the speech has already begun. The mayor is standing there in the front, talking about all the disasters that struck Panem, and the Dark Days and all of that.

Lukas is forced to slow down as the crowd becomes too thick.

He curses himself silently again, while trying to sneak past the first-year tributes who are all standing there, looking too grown up in their new, fancy clothes.

“Michelle Laroche!”

That is the female tribute. Lukas knows her family well, because they were playmates when they were younger. Whenever Lukas and Mikkel got away from their parents, they would go to Michelle’s family. Then they would go to the shore, or climb the dangerous, slippery walls that plummet into the sea beneath.

At the sight of Michelle’s long, dark brown pigtails dancing with each step, he feels a stab of pain. They have grown apart, but he still considers her a friend.

Some motion returns to the crowd, and Lukas takes the chance to sneak up to the tributes at his own age. Those that have passed the reaping three times, and stand to pass it a fourth. He nearly makes it, when the name of the male tribute is called over the speakers, and he freezes, petrified.

_… what?_ That is the only thought his mind can conjure. _What?_ Eyes wide, he stares at the silver-haired boy as he walks stiffly through the crowd. His face is as white as the crests of foam on a windy day at the shore. His hands are clenched into fists and he tries to look brave. He makes it to the stairs.

The world returns to normal, and Lukas shouts, “Wait!”

People turn their heads, and some even complains as he pushes between them, until he is standing at the cleared space just before the stairs. Reaching out, he holds Emil back.

“I volunteer”, he says, or rather begs. “Just… I volunteer.”

He hears Mikkel call out something from the sideline. Mikkel, who is just one year too old to volunteer himself.

Emil tears himself free from Lukas. “I can do this”, he says defensively. “You don’t have to protect me!”

Lukas feels how his usual expressionless mask slips off, and all his emotions are out in the open. Fear, sorrow, pain, but above all, an instinct to protect his younger brother. “I won’t let you”, he states, his voice hoarse.

“Lukas-” Emil begins, but the escort has already approved Lukas. Emil refuses to look at Lukas, but Lukas sees how his younger brother’s cheeks are red from embarrassment and humiliation. It is worth it, though, if Emil is kept safe.

He walks past Emil and is asked to introduce himself. He barely notices what is said, because of the pounding in his ears. Because he suddenly realizes what he has done. Staring into Michelle’s eyes when they shake hands, he knows that they both know they are going to be enemies, no matter what. The moment they are launched into the arena and the Games start, they must fight to death. Because only one can survive.

The anthem plays. Then they are led into the Justice Building. Lukas is locked up in a small, comfortable room. The walls are empty, but there is a sofa there, as well as armchairs and a table. A plate with biscuits and chocolate stands at the table, but he has no urge to have any of it.

He crosses his arms and stands there, his back straight, replaying in his mind what just happened. Then he goes over to analysing his own feelings of what he has done. He is not happy. Certainly not. Neither is he sad. He stares at one piece of chocolate in particular. It has the shape of a seagull. He is glad Emil will not be participating in the Games, but terrified of what awaits him.

“What the hell?!”

The door bursts open, and Lukas spins around to find Emil standing there, his face red as a beetroot. “What the hell?” Emil repeats. “Do you have any idea of how humiliating that was? You could just as well have said I would’ve died before even being launched into the arena! You’re just so…” He trails off, at loss of words to describe his feelings. Then he punches the closest wall.

Lukas says nothing.

“I hate that you are so overprotective!” Emil cries. “Where were you this morning, anyway? Why didn’t you come back?”

Mikkel comes to Lukas’ aid. “That was really stupid of you, bro. I honestly believe you should’ve let Emil go, just so he could’ve had the satisfaction of dying on-screen”, he says sardonically. He frowns. “You okay?”

Lukas turns deliberately away. “Sure I am”, he replies flatly. He falls down in the sofa and leans back. He feels as though he should do something, maybe say something, that lets his family know he does love them, and that what he did was to keep them safe.

“Goddammit, don’t be like that!” Emil exclaims. “I’m still not done with you!”

Mikkel shoots Emil a glance, before sitting down beside Lukas and carefully placing a hand at his shoulder.

“I’ll say this once”, Lukas tells Mikkel softly. “I’ll miss you.”

Mikkel snorts with laughter. “Really?”

“No.” Lukas tilts his head, glancing at him. “I was joking.”

Mikkel pulls him into a hug, and for once Lukas does not refuse it. He leans his head against his older brother’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He will never admit it, but sometimes he does not mind a little affection. He imagines how it could have been, going home with Emil and Mikkel to celebrate the new tributes – or that they were safe, depending on how one wished to view it.

He wraps his arms around Mikkel, clenching the back of his shirt. Allows himself to show that he actually loves him. “I’m sorry”, he whispers. The arms around him tighten.

A sound from the door makes Lukas glance up.

Emil is standing there, his eyes spilling over.

Unable to stand the look at Emil’s face, Lukas holds out a hand to Emil. Hesitating for only a second, Emil approaches and takes the hand. Lukas pulls him into the embrace. Emil buries his face in Lukas’ shoulder, helplessly trying to choke back sobs that want to escape. Mikkel’s arms wraps around both of them, holding them in a big, warm embrace.

“When I’m not here-” Lukas begins, but is interrupted.

“Don’t say it!” Emil exclaims, holding even tighter on to him. “You _will_ return!”

Lukas says nothing.

In the silence that fills the room, Lukas is for the first time aware that this is very likely the last time he will see his siblings. The Careers, the tributes from district 1 and 2, will see him dead, and he will not be able to see neither Emil nor Mikkel again. His only chance would be to join the Careers.

His lets out a long, trembling breath, holding tighter on to Emil. “Until I return”, he whispers, “will you help Mikkel in the bakery? Someone has to make sure he does not burn the food.”


	6. District 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheng Wang - Macau  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam  
> Jia Long Wang - Hong Kong

Life had never been easy. Work every day, except the official holidays. The only reason you could have to stay home, was if you were dying. Did you not meet for work, the peacekeepers came looking for you. That is how Cheng Wang’s life has been, until the reaping. Now, he has everything – except time.

He stares out the window as the world passes by at incredible speed. He has never been the large one. Not overly strong, nor done anything remarkable. Except now. He still feels the hollow triumph of doing something that makes the whole district respect him.

“Hey.”

Cheng turns his head, finding the other tribute, Lien Chung, standing there. She does not smile, only eyes him as though he is some strange animal that might bite if she does anything rash.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” Cheng replies.

She frowns, unhappy by his answer. “You know what I mean. Why did you volunteer for that boy – what was his name again?”

“Jia Long Wang.”

“Yes. Why did you volunteer for him? Is he anything to you?”

Cheng smiles gently. “You don’t know much about friendship, do you?”

She says nothing.

He turns back to the window. “We are cousins. I don’t remember exactly when we met the first time, but I know he has been beside me, doing his best in supporting me. I would stand by him to the end, too, had it not been for these Games. He is my best friend, and I simply could not stand the thought of seeing his life end by a broken neck or an impaled chest. I want him to live, marry and maybe have children one day.” He pauses for some moments. “Do you have anyone you care about?”

In the reflection of the window, he sees Lien shake her head. “No one I would die for, anyway.”

“That I am truly sorry to hear.”

She nods, then turns and disappears. He hears her steps fade, then the opening and closing of a door. Then complete silence, only broken by the constant sound of the train moving and the wind passing by.

He sighs softly, before returning to his own compartment. Closing the door firmly behind himself, he heads over to the bed and sits down at it. That is the most comfortable thing in the whole room – maybe except the soft shirt laying at his bed. From his pocket, he pulls out a fingerless glove. It is red with a white pattern that might resemble a flower on the back. It is one of a pair. Hopefully, he will be allowed to wear it for the Games.

Putting it on, he smiles sadly. He is certainly going to miss being woken by Jia prodding his forehead and telling him to get his “lazy ass” out of bed.

The escort gathers him for dinner, ushering him towards the dining room. Lien arrives moments later, and they take their places. Dinner arrives. It is the best meal Cheng remembers to have eaten in his whole life, and leaves him somewhat sick afterwards.

Then they go to watch the recap of all the reapings. Both district 1 and 2 sends a pair of siblings. The ones from district 1 appear harmless enough, and Cheng judges the girl to be the most dangerous of the two. The boy, or rather man, from district 2 is a mountain of a person, but still Cheng feels sorry for him when he sees him pick up the younger sister.

The boy from district 3 looks like the typical genius, and Cheng makes a note to keep out of his path. That boy probably knows more than twenty ways to kill him with a wire or a rope. The girl, on the other hand, appears so harmless and terrified, he almost wishes someone would volunteer for her.

District 4 sends a girl that appears to have more than enough of confidence, and while the emotionless boy would have scared Cheng, had he not seen the guy volunteer for the younger brother, the girl looks just confused, as though she does not understand what is happening.

He makes a mental note to stay out of the path of the tributes from district 5. The male tribute looks as though he can break Cheng’s spine just by glaring at him, while the girl probably knows a hundred ways to kill him with everything from a kitchen knife to a sword.

From district 6, Cheng honestly remembers very little, except the boy grinning at the camera and saying he does all of this for his brother.

District 7 also sends a pair of siblings. The male tribute is tall, but there is something in his eyes that makes Cheng think it safer to go in a wide circle around him. The female one forces a smile at the camera. She looks nice, but it would probably be no good to underestimate her.

The boy from district 8 looks completely harmless. He is standing there, his face close to ashen, and appears to be made of stone. The girl fights to keep from tearing up.

When the girl from district 9 is chosen, a boy that probably is her brother tries to say there has been made a mistake. It ends with the peacekeepers taking a hold of his arms. The male tribute is a thin guy. The most striking thing about him? His eyebrows. That is the only impression Cheng is left with after seeing him.

District 10 sends two tributes that he judges as good as dead. The boy is just as thin as eyebrows from district 9, but certainly lacks some bravery. His name, however, appears known somehow. The girl looks like she could walk into a trap, and not even notice she is dead when the sword is at her throat.

Then there is district 11. He sees himself volunteering for Jia, and sees Jia trying to keep him back. Lien is reaped, and he has to admit she does look though when she goes up there, glaring at the cameras, despite her paleness.

The sibling pair from district 12 is the one that really makes his dinner turn to ice. The boy is just another mountain to put on the list, but he smiles and _waves_ at the cameras. His sister glares daggers through the screen, giving off the expression of planning someone’s death. And that death would not be a light one.

This would be the worst Games in forever. Four sibling pairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTIVITY: Try to guess the rest of the tributes. Leave your guesses in a comment below. You have two days, before next chapter is posted, so guess and have fun!


	7. District 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura Krusen - Belgium  
> Tim Krusen - Netherlands  
> Henry Krusen - Luxembourg  
> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Ludwig Belischmidt - Germany  
> Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam  
> Ivan Braginsky - Russia  
> Natalya Braginsky - Belarus

She stares at the screen. Twenty-four faces stare back at her, including herself. She lets out a shivering breath. How on Earth is she going to survive? Her gaze wanders back to the ones she sees as the largest threat. The names are written in white beneath their pictures. Berwald Oxenstierna. Ludwig Beilschmidt. Elizaveta Hedervary. Lien Chung. Ivan and Natalya Braginsky.

The screen turns black, and she glances sideways at Tim. He holds the remote control, arm held straight out as he points at the television. Then he lets his arm drop. His face is an unreadable mask when he asks, “Laura, why does ‘Vargas’ sound familiar?”

She shakes her head. She has no idea. There is a bell ringing somewhere in her head when she hears it, but she has nothing to connect it with.

Of some reason, the surname bothers Tim. He gets up from the sofa and searches his pockets. From one well hidden under the jacket, he finds a clay pipe with tiny ornaments on the sides. Amongst them, Laura spots the symbol of district 7.

“Young man!” their escort exclaims.

“Cool down, I’ll take it outside”, Tim grumbles before she can work herself up, and heads for the door.

Not up to spending more time than necessary with the escort and earlier champions of the Games, Laura gets up, grabs a cup of coffee and disappears to her room. She has tasted it once, when Tim brought some home, and she sort of likes the taste of it.

As she makes her way towards her room, she sees Tim take a deep, calming breath of the pipe, holding it for a second, before letting out a cloud of smoke through his nose. She shudders slightly. She never understood why he began smoking in the first place, and she is not about to understand either.

She slips into her room, closing the door firmly behind her. Then she places the cup at the nightstand, and heads to take a shower. The water runs down her body, warm and soothing. It is as though it washes away all memories and all thoughts, leaving her only in the present. She bobs her head. Her fringe shields her eyes to the running water, and she takes some breaths through the nose, careful with not inhaling water.

She straightens, brushes her hair back and washes it, before switching off the water and stepping out of the shower. Her skin is red after the hot water, but it does not bother her that much. She dries herself up and searches the closet for something to wear. The cloths must have been changed, because earlier there were skirts, shirts and trousers in all colours, shapes and sizes. Now there are only clothes left in her size. She takes a glance at the clock hanging at the wall, then puts on a nightgown. It is nearly to her knees, and would not have been shaped to fit a woman, had it not been for the band just below her breasts. She tightens it and goes to drink her coffee.

There are some moments of silence where she only hears her own soft breaths, herself sipping the coffee, and the sounds of the train. Then someone knocks at the door. It opens before she gets a chance to answer, and Tim peeks in.

“How rude”, she says with a teasing smile. “I could have been changing!”

Tim does not smile. He simply arches an eyebrow. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” That is true. He used to bath her when she was younger. Still, on occasions, he washes her hair – at least when they have the time for it.

He enters without an invitation and joins her at the bed. The smell of smoke lingers in his jacket, but she does not mention it. Instead, she takes a sip of her cup.

“What do you think they are doing now?” Laura asks. There is no need to say who she is talking of. They are both thinking the same.

“Don’t know”, Tim replies, leaning back until his head hits the wall. His chin rests on his collarbone. The position must be painful.

Laura stares at the content of her cup. Her eyes flutter shut as she takes another sip. “Mum is probably making dinner”, she whispers. “You know, that wild boar dad brought home yesterday. I bet she has put some spices on it, and the scent fills the kitchen. Dad will be making the sauce. He was going to add red wine to it this year, since we would celebrate that you were out of the reaping for good. I wonder if he is still going to do it. Henry is laying the table. But… there will only be three today…” Her voice breaks at the end. She swallows. “Then… Henry will feed your rabbit some of the salad from our garden, since… you’re not going to do it…” Her lower lip begins to tremble, and she sniffs. Carefully she puts the cup aside, before curling up beside Tim. She buries her face in the duvet. It smells clean. Her own duvet never smelled this clean.

Tim shifts and rolls over on the side. He slips his arms around her, pulling her close and stroking her hair. The smell of the duvet is exchanged with the smell of him, as Laura instead presses her face into his chest. It is a smell of home, and of everything she is afraid she may never have again.

“It’ll be fine”, Tim murmurs. “We’ll make it home.”

Laura knows they will not make it home. One of them must die, but she prays they will not have to kill each other. The tears are running nearly before she is aware of it.

“Shhh. It’ll be all right. Everything will turn out all right in the end.” Tim’s voice is a little hoarse.

She does not reply, only clings to him. This room is the only place in which she is allowed to show weakness. Outside, there may be cameras watching her every movement, and she has to stay strong.


	8. District 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francis Bonnefoy - France  
> Louise Bonnefoy - Monaco  
> Arthur Kirkland - England

Francis Bonnefoy leans back in the comfortable armchair, letting out a soft sigh as he watches the wine in his glass. It moves in circles, washing up against the sides of the crystal glass. What an honour. Participating in the Games? Truly, truly wonderful.

Even though, after seeing the other tributes, he is not sure if he will have the pleasure of be the last standing tribute. His thoughts automatically goes to that boy with the messy blond hair from district 9. Arthur Kirkland. What a terrible sense of fashion. Now, none of the tributes had the best sense of fashion, nor were properly cleaned up, but something about that boy simply annoys him.

He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long sip of it. When he puts it down, one third of the content is gone. He smacks his lips thoughtfully. Not the best wine he has tasted, but not the worst either. The bottles of wine his father has stored in the basement dates back all the way to the Dark Days. Those are good. Ten out of ten. This one could be a good eight and a half, maybe.

“What is bothering you?”

Francis glances at his sister, Louise, as she takes her place in the armchair opposite him. For the occasion, she has dressed in a flowing wine red dress with split sleeves that fall to her waist. Her glasses are white with golden ornaments. Golden earrings with white diamonds in. The fact that she has put her hair up in a bun, makes her look older than only fifteen. She could have been his senior, and not his little sister.

She pours herself a glass of wine. From a box under the table she finds a deck of cards. They all have the emblem of the Capitol at the back.

“A game, brother?”

“If you wish”, Francis replies, inclining his head.

She gives the cards. Five to each. So it would be the usual game, then. He smiles smugly to himself as he lifts the cards, looking through them. An ace, a queen, a jack, an eight and a three. He hides a look of excitement. He would now need a king and a ten. Perfect.

“Your draw”, Louise says, no emotion crossing her face.

He pulls a card from the stack between them. Throws out the three in favour of a nine. Louise follows courtly. She drops a king. Just what Francis needs. He exchanges it with the eight.

“So”, Louise keeps up as she draws another card. “What is bothering you?”

“What should be bothering me?” Francis replies with a soft laughter.

“The Games? The tributes from district 2, 5, 11 and 12? A possible death?”

“It is an honour to represent district 1. The other tributes will be no problem. Everyone wants an alliance with us, and if we play the cards well…” He smiles and lays down his cards. Ace, king, queen, jack, ten. “One of us will be the last standing.”

Now Louise smiles as she puts down her own cards. Ace, ace, ace, king, king. That makes forty points. Five more than himself. He sighs and leans back in his seat. Takes another sip from his glass of wine.

“Indeed”, she replies. She copies his movement and sips of her wine. When she glances at him again, her eyes appear to be made of steel. “But something is bothering you, Francis. I have known you long enough to understand that.”

Francis turns away and stares out of the window instead. The world passes by at high speed. Higher speed than he has travelled with before, even though his father is the mayor of district 1 and has a good relationship with the Capitol.

“Francis”, she persists.

“It is district 9. Kirkland. He bothers me. I don’t know why, but I think he will be my enemy.”

In the dark glass he sees Louise reflected. She tilts her head. “Everyone will be enemies out there. Even that little girl from district 2 will be your enemy.”

Francis finishes his glass and rises. “Kirkland will be my largest threat out there. No matter what I do, it will come down to us.”

Louise laughs softly. “You are far too melodramatic, brother. He is district 9. He will likely die by the Cornocupia in an attempt of getting some of the goods there.” She rises as well and leaves the table. “Learn to play your cards better, and you will outlive him.” Then she disappears out of the common room and heads back to her own room.

He stares after her for a moment, before casting a glance at the screen. The twenty-four portraits appear frozen. District 9. Arthur Kirkland. He glares at Francis with a hostility that makes Francis shudder. He wonders if the boy is like that all the time.


	9. District 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mei Xiao - Taiwan  
> Yao Wang - China  
> Kiku Wang - Japan  
> Young Soo Wang - South Korea

Mei is having a quiet breakfast. The good food before her is all very tempting, and she has to force herself to not stuff her stomach with all she can see. Instead, she carefully nips at her tea, in between taking mouthfuls of a pale pink creamy substance that tastes a little like strawberries, but with a hint of something sour underneath. It is cold. She likes it.

Yao is sitting opposite her, enjoying a wheat biscuit with creamy, soft-ripened cheese and grapes. It appears really delicate and tasty, but the look on his face says he does not appreciate it all that much. Mei wonders if he is thinking of his siblings.

She herself is at least thinking of them. Or more specifically, one of them. Yao has two brothers. The youngest, Young Soo, is only nine years old, and idolizes Yao. Everything Yao does, Young Soo will try to copy. Then there is Kiku.

 

_Mei was sent to pick up clothes. Usually, she would get them from Yao, but this day he had been busy with packing clothes into boxes so they would be ready to ship off by noon. Yao sent her to the large white building just a few hundred meters off. It was quiet, nearly abandoned, when she entered. She walked through the house, and at the end found a small kitchen and another door. When she stepped through, she found a garden. There were ropes hanging from pole to pole all over, and clothes were hanging there, drying in the air. Behind one of the larger pieces of cloth, she spotted a pair of legs._

_She cleared her throat carefully. “Um… hello?”_

_The cloth was pulled aside, and she stood face to face with a boy with brown eyes, straight black hair and a face with flawless skin. The eyes showed no expression, even though he smiled politely. He wore pressed brown trousers, dark brown shoes and a very pale yellow shirt with up-rolled sleeves. “Hello. How may I help you?”_

_“Yao sent me to pick up the clothes of my family”, Mei replied, shifting carefully and suddenly a little self-conscious. She tried to discrete straighten her one unruly curl that refused to stay braided back with the rest of her hair._

_The boy’s smile turned kind. “You are on familiar terms with my brother? What is your name?”_

_“Mei”, she answered. She looked him over once more. “You’re…” She tried to remember whether Yao ever had told her of any siblings, but realized they never had spoke of their families. They just talked of things that had happened during work._

_The boy came forth from behind the cloth and extended a hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Mei. I am Kiku.”_

_Mei accepted his hand. It was warm. She smiled at him. “Nice meeting you!”_

_She helped him gather the dried clothes and sorting them into different baskets. Afterwards, they sat together in the grass, enjoying lunch and talking. Many more days passed by that way. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Until one day in the late autumn when Mei came there and she did not find Kiku._

_She skipped through the kitchen and pushed up the door. It was starting to get chilly, but they still dried the clothes outside. They did it as long as they could. “Kiku!” she exclaimed, smiling and laughing. “I brought you some-” The words stopped in her throat when she found no Kiku. Instead, an unknown lady met her gaze. “Oh, sorry. Where is Kiku?”_

_The lady made a motion with her head, towards the fence surrounding the garden. “At home.”_

_Mei stood there for another second, unsure of what to do, but then turned and disappeared back into the building. Soon she found herself outside, strolling the streets. Her smile was gone, and the bag that before had been dangling from her hand was now pressed to her chest. She should probably just go home and try another day, but she had been looking forward to giving the bag to him. She had ran home and got it as soon as school finished._

_She stopped with a sigh and glanced about. Then she took off down the street and turned the corner, determined to see him. It was a short walk – barely ten minutes – to his house. It was in that part of the settlement that was neither poor nor rich. It simply was. A nice house with a small garden outside. It was always neat and clean._

_Mei hurried up to the door and knocked, a little uncertainly. She had never visited the family, but the house had been pointed out to her. Some seconds passed, then she heard light steps and the door burst open. A small boy stared up at her, hanging off the doorknob. His eyes were large, and he appeared rather innocent. Until he grinned, turned with a laugh and ran back inside, yelling, “That girl’s here!”_

_“Young! Quiet down!”_

_She recognized Yao’s voice, and a second later the owner appeared. He gave her the polite and friendly smile she had become accustomed to. The one that was so similar to Kiku’s, but still somewhat different._

_“I heard Kiku is at home, and… I sort of had something to him.” She showed her bag._

_“I’m sure he’d be glad to see you, aru”, Yao replied and invited her inside with a motion. He closed the door behind her. “He’s been inside the whole day.”_

_Her curiosity picked, she followed Yao up a set of stairs. There were two doors. Both were firmly closed._

_Yao put a finger to his lips, before pushing up one of the doors. “Kiku? There’s someone here to see you, if you’re up to it, aru.” He stepped aside, and let Mei in._

_The room was nice, but simple. The walls were pale, and there was a large window facing out to the garden. There were two beds there, placed on each their side of the room. A dresser stood by each bed. One of the beds was neatly made, while the other was disrupted from just having been used. The owner of the bed was struggling to stand up, searching for support by the headboard._

_“Kiku!” Without thinking, Mei rushed inside and gave him a hand to support him. She barely noticed how his cheeks gained a pale, reddish colour. Not before he was standing, she let go of him. “What happened?”_

_“I hurt my leg yesterday. Nothing to worry about.”_

_“He broke his leg and nearly sprained his wrist, aru”, Yao corrected, a bemused smile playing across his lips._

_“What?!” Mei stared from one to the other, then fixated her gaze on Kiku. “You should be laying down!”_

_“It is fine”, Kiku replied defensively. “It does not hurt that much.”_

_Mei glared at him, until he gave in and sat back down at the bed. She did not miss his wince of pain as he stretched out the leg which she now noticed was wrapped in bandages and something to support it with. She was not very good when it came to healing._

_“I’ll just leave you two to each other”, Yao said quickly, and left. The door closed, and his light steps disappeared downstairs. He was immediately engaged in a conversation with Young._

_Carefully Mei sat beside Kiku._ _“How did you manage?”_

_“I fell.”_

_“Pretty badly. You should be more careful in the future!” Before he got a chance to reply, she brought forth the bag and pushed it into his hands. “Here! I hope you like it.”_

_He took it tentatively and opened it with his good hand, taking out the content. It was a small plain wood box. Inside, were three still steaming homemade rolls shaped like horns. They were golden and brown on the top, and glistened in the light from the window. A few corns of sugar lay on top. “You made these?” Kiku questioned, glancing up at her._

_She nodded, proud of herself._

_“They smell wonderfully. Thank you, Mei.”_

_“You’re welcome! I hope they taste well. It’s the first time I’ve baked something without mum.”_

_Kiku picked up one of the rolls and broke it in two. It became uneven because of the wrist he had hurt. He glanced apologetically at her, and tried offering her the largest piece. She took the smallest instead and tasted it. At least it was no disaster. Once she got the taste of it, she ate it quickly. Kiku, she noticed, started on the second roll even before she had finished her half._

_Awkwardly he tried to break off a small piece of another one. Mei giggled softly and took it out of his hands. She broke off a small piece and held it to his mouth. Now she noticed how his cheeks gained colour. For a moment, he appeared as though he wanted to turn away, but then let her put the piece into his mouth._

_She fed him a few more pieces, before he turned away, flustered beyond speech. She noticed a scratch at his cheek, and leaned forth to kiss it lightly. He turned, as though hearing her move, and their lips brushed together._

_Mei jumped back, a wave of heat washing over her. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I-I… I just saw the scratch and people always say ‘kiss things better’, so I thought… I’m sorry!”_

_Kiku did not look at her, but glanced down at the box in his lap and carefully closed it. He put it aside, completely refusing to look at her._

_She had messed up their relationship. Kiku was very careful when it came to close contact with people, and in his mind, that kiss could probably go right down to abuse. Oh God, she had messed up so badly. Now he would ask her politely to leave, and then he would try to escape here every single time after._

_“Will you do it again?”_

_She blinked. “What?”_

_“Can you… kiss me again?”_

_Slowly, her brain put the words together so they gave meaning. Her terrified thoughts were blown away, and a sort of warm relief flooded her. He would not ask her to go. In fact, he had asked her to kiss him again! She shifted so she was sitting right beside him again, and took his face in her hands. For some moments she simply gazed at him. His eyes, his nose, his hair, his lips. Everything. She leaned forth and brushed their lips together again. She had never kissed anyone like this in her whole life. Sure, kisses to the cheek or on the forehead, but this?_

_Pulling back slightly, she peered up at him. “Is it any good?” she asked softly._

_A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he lifted his good hand, guiding their lips together again. The taste of sweet rolls still lingered at his lips._

 

Mei buries her face in her hands, stifling a small noise in the back of her throat. It is nearly two years since she met Kiku for the first time. They have been together for one and a half year. She misses him more than she thought possible. Did he miss her as much? Was he eating breakfast, quietly answering Young’s questions while thinking of where she was?

The thought that she might never see him again made her heart ache.

Very suddenly, the compartment goes dark. At least that is how it first appears, before Mei becomes aware of the soft light all around. In the walls, the roof – even the table. They have entered the tunnel that goes through the mountain range separating them from the Capitol.

She exchanges a glance with Yao. He looks pale, scared and excited all at once. 


	10. District 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Kirkland - England  
> Erika Zwingli - Liechtenstein  
> Francis Bonnefoy - France

The prep team has just left. Arthur Kirkland stares at his own reflection, wondering what he will look like by the end of the day. By the parade. Last year, district 9 was not that bad – but not the best, not by far. Hopefully, it will not be that bad this year either.

His skin still feels a little raw. He rubs his shoulder. He could have sworn the prep team were trying to scrub him to death. What a funny way to die. He could already imagine the titles; TRIBUTE KILLED BY HIS OWN PREP TEAM; SCRUBBED TO DEATH; A PAINFUL WAY TO DIE. He wrinkles his nose at all the ideas. At least the prep team had the sense to leave most of his eyebrows be. He shoots a glance at the robe that is laying in a heap at the floor. He lifts it carefully, but instead of putting it completely on, he simply wraps it around his waist, nearly like some sort of loincloth.

With a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it even more than it already is.

He does not hear the door open, but the steps when someone enters he definitely hears. Turning, he finds a woman standing there, eyeing him with the look of an artist. She makes a small motion with her hand, but it is enough to make him understand she wants him to remove the cloth.

“I don’t get why I have to be stark naked in front of all of you”, he grumbles, but does as she wants.

She ignores his comment in favour of circling him like a predator. “At least they did a good job”, she states. “So, Arthur, I will be your stylist from now and until the Games. If you win, I will be your stylist after it too.” She says it all in a matter-of-factly tone, and he wonders how many times she has said those words. By the sound of it, enough times to be tired of repeating them.

Once she is done with him, she makes him put on the robe and leads him into a room where lunch is put forth. They eat, and afterwards the next hours are spent fitting Arthur’s costume for the parade, as well as adding make-up and trying to do something with his hair. She keeps up a polite chatter, and he answers with equally polite answers.

Twilight approaches quickly when he is allowed to have a proper look at himself. And he has to say, he is at all not displeased with the result. The stylist for sure did a good job. His hair is still ruffled, but it does not make him look careless as it usually does. In fact, he is certain even his brothers would have to admit there is some charm over it. He wears a white loincloth that fades into brown at the bottom edge. It is held up by a white braid over his shoulder that reminds him a little of oat. His shoes are of soft pale brown leather. Wheat is braided into crown and is resting at his head. Somehow, the stylist has managed to braid two tiny braids in his hair. They stand out a little more than he would wish them to. Black eyeliner makes his eyes appear larger than they really are, and some highlight is added here and there. At his side, he has a sickle made only for show.

With his stylist and the prep team, he goes to meet his fellow tribute. The time they spent together on the train, he used to learn about her. Her name is Erika Zwingli. She adores cute things and loves dresses. She is innocent, and very attached to her brother. However, she can be quite feisty if she is angered.

When Arthur now sees her, he has to admit she is beautiful. Her stylist definitely managed to merge her innocent and feisty side in a splendid attire. She wears a white sleeveless dress that falls to her knees. The bottom fades into brown. The straps holding it up are braided white cloth. Her shoes are of soft leather. She has two thin braids in her hair, and wears a crown of wheat. In her arms, she has a bundle of dry wheat. Her eyes are made large by black eyeliner and golden eye shadow, and her cheeks are coloured soft red, as are her lips.

_Pure_.

Before he has a chance to comment on how she looks, they are whisked down to the bottom level where horses and chariots stand ready. A great number of tributes have already arrived.

Arthur and Erika climb into the chariot assigned them, and their stylists arrange their limbs. They are reminded to look as though they are at peace, and keep smiling. Then their stylists retreat to their own corner, discussing something.

“I wish brother could be here”, Erika whispers. She fidgets nervously.

Despite his own nerves, Arthur manages to smile at her. “You brother will be watching you on the screen.”

“But it just is not the same…”

“He will be proud”, Arthur replies, wishing to see her smile. “Proud to have a beautiful and strong little sister.”

“I’m not strong”, Erika mumbles, glancing down at the wheat in her arms. “I’m just… me.”

Arthur is about to say another word of comfort, when he notices someone staring at him – or more like glaring. Gazing forward, he finds the tribute from district 1, Francis Bonnefoy, shooting daggers his way. Their gazes lock, and Francis’ eyes narrow. Then he turns deliberately away.

Puzzled by the strange behaviour, Arthur misses Erika’s next words. Before she gets a chance to repeat them, the large doors open to the streets of the Capitol, and the anthem blasts all about the city.

The parade is about to start.


	11. District 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natlya Braginsky - Belarus  
> Ivan Braginsky - Russia

The parade is about to start.

Trying desperately not to trip in her long, heavy black skirts, Natalya climbs into the chariot that is pulled by two black horses. She frenetically straightens her clothes. Even though she might not survive in the Games, she should at least leave a good impression. She certainly would not like to be just another dead tribute from district 12.

“Calm down”, Ivan says, offering her a smile.

“Easy for you to say”, she replies. Where should she keep her hands? At her back? At her sides? In front of her? She glares at him. “At least you look cool, all in black but with naked chest. I look like some sort of…” She trails off, shooting a glance at her gown. Black satin and silk – at least that was what her stylist had called it – formed into something out of a storybook. It is so tight around her waist, it hurts.

Ivan places a hand at her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You look amazingly terrifying.”

Natalya whacks him on the chest, even though some of her worry is gone.

“Don’t do that!” Ivan’s stylist squeaks. “It’ll leave a mark! Oh, stupid…” Her voice turns into incomprehensible muttering as she makes sure his skin is perfectly fine.

Natalya places her hands at her hips – or rather at the bottom of her corset. “Of course”, she snaps. “That’s me, right? Ivan’s stupid little sister. Are you forgetting you might be talking to the future winner of the Hunger Games?” Wow, did she feel all high and mighty.

“You’re district 12”, the stylist replies scornfully, still caught up by Ivan’s skin. “You’ll be dead before fifteen minutes has passed.”

“Excuse me!” Natalya’s eyes widen in shock, then narrow in anger. Oh, if she only had had her knives there. That stylist would be skinned and pinned up at the wall, or better, had her fingers and arms cut off, one by one. “You are damn lucky I haven’t got any weapons right now”, she growls.

“As if you could do any harm”, the stylist answers shortly.

“You-”

“Please, shut up, both of you”, Ivan interrupts, an adorable smile at his face, but a threatening undertone to his voice. He pushes his stylist away. “You apologize to my sister. Natalya, I do not want to hear you threatening anyone outside the Games.”

Natalya crosses her arms and turns deliberately away. Suddenly she notices the carriage before them starting to move. Her face drops back into its earlier anxious mask, and she once more makes sure her gown is not messed up.

“Leave it be”, Ivan insists, forcing her hands to keep still. “Smile and wave at the crowd, all right?”

“I can’t smile!”

“Then look terrifying.”

Their carriage starts moving. The gates come closer and closer. And they are out in the streets. Above them, the sky is darkening. In front of them, Natalya sees the carriage of district 11. Further in the front, she sees the enormous screens, depicting the carriages of district 10 and 11, and suddenly there she is, alongside Ivan.

She tries to force a smile as someone cheers “district 12”, but leaves it be and instead goes for terrifying. Much easier. She stares forward, ignoring the crowd and narrows her eyes slightly, pretending to already be plotting how to kill in the most spectacular ways in the arena. In a way, she already is. She has to.

They roll through the streets, with citizens on all sides. Beside her, Ivan smiles and waves. She keeps on glaring ahead, doing her best impression of ‘terrifying’. Hopefully, no one would misinterpret it. Although, how can they?

Their chariot pulls up right in front of President Snow’s mansion. The intro music that Natalya completely forgot to think of during the parade comes to a stop. A speech of welcome. The national anthem. They make one final round around the City Circle, before disappearing into the Training Centre.

Natalya lets down her guard and leans against Ivan, trembling. How the hell did she withstand that? She has no idea. Ivan wraps his arms around her. “You did a good job”, he says calmingly, brotherly love in his voice.

She nods and glares daggers at the prep teams and stylists as they try to approach. Then her gaze skip to the pair from district 9. She does not remember their names, but the envy of their beauty walls up in her, nearly making her sick. Both blond-haired. Both smiling, laughing, dressed in white. They look so angelic, pure and innocent. The girl says something, and the boy laughs a little, his eyes sparkling.

Natalya buries her face in Ivan’s shoulder. How is it that everyone can look so much better than her? So much more attractive? Only the fact that they are likable will likely make them survive. Then she scowls. She is not supposed to think like that. She is likable. She can be angelic if she wants to, but how will innocence save her in the arena? Better being maleficent.


	12. District 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eduard von Bock - Estonia  
> Rosalia Galante - Latvia  
> Toris Galante - Lithuania  
> Feliks Lukasiewicz - Poland  
> Francis Bonnefoy - France   
> Louise Bonnefoy - Monaco  
> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Timo Väinämöinen - Finland   
> Petra Oxenstierna - Sealand   
> Lukas Bondevik - Norway   
> Michelle Laroche - Seychelles   
> Ludwig Belischmidt - Germany   
> Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary   
> Roderich Edelstein - Austria  
> Alfred F. Jones - America   
> Wendy Morton - Wy   
> Tim Krusen - Netherlands   
> Laura Krusen - Belgium   
> Yao Wang - China   
> Mei Xiao - Taiwan   
> Arthur Kirkland - England   
> Erika Zwingli - Liechtenstein   
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Lovino Vargas - South Italy  
> Romeo Vargas - Seborga   
> Iliana Karpusi - Greece   
> Cheng Wang - Macau   
> Lien Chung - Vietnam   
> Ivan Braginsky - Russia   
> Natalya Braginsky - Belarus

“Finally!” Eduard von Bock climbs off the chariot, removing the head piece that is supposed to look very high-tech. It does not. It looks ancient – like something from before the Dark Days. Today, no one would wear an earpiece as a phone. They would insert a speaker in the ear, and a microphone at the collar. Much simpler.

“There were so many people”, Rosalia Galante whimpers, collapsing onto the edge of the chariot. Blue and green bolts of light dance across her black dress, as though it is supposed to look like some electric storm. At least the stylists tried.

“Don’t worry. Their attention was solely on district 9”, Eduard informs, glancing over at them. At least he understands why that boy – probably the brother of the girl – was so protective of her when she was reaped. If the girl survives, her future husband is likely to have a hell of a time going anywhere without the brother’s hawk-eyes set on him.

Eduard shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

The next days pass by in a blur. Early up. Training. Lunch. Training. Dinner. By the time he is allowed to go to bed, he is too exhausted to even think, and falls asleep immediately. The evening when they show the score of the tributes, he makes notes of how well different people did.

_Francis Bonnefoy_ : 5. _Louise Bonnefoy_ : 9. _Berwald Oxenstierna_ : 10. _Petra Oxenstierna_ : 5. _Eduard von Bock_ : 6. _Rosalia Galante_ : 4. _Lukas Bondevik_ : 9. _Michelle Laroche_ : 7. _Ludwig Belischmidt_ : 10. _Elizaveta Hedervary_ : 10. _Alfred F. Jones_ : 8. _Wendy Morton_ : 6. _Tim Krusen_ : 10. _Laura Krusen_ : 9. _Yao Wang_ : 8. _Mei Xiao_ : 5. _Arthur Kirkland_ : 8. _Erika Zwingli_ : 6. _Feliciano Vargas_ : 6. _Iliana Karpusi_ : 5. _Cheng Wang_ : 7. _Lien Chung_ : 11. _Ivan Braginsky_ : 9. _Natalya Braginsky_ : 9.

Another day passing in a blur. Then the night of the interview. His prep team and stylist works on him the whole day. By nightfall, he is unrecognizable, dressed up in a black suit with a pale blue shirt underneath and a sharp green tie. His glasses are cleaned. Apparently, he is supposed to play “genius”. Clever remarks. Analysing. He can do that.

Together with the other tributes he lines up, ready to take his seat in the City Circle. Rosalia shoots a nervous glance back at him, asking for reassurance. He smiles at her. He has never been at a scene like this before, but he has spent the whole day calming his nerves, and now only a small knot is left in the bottom of his stomach. It could have been much worse.

They walk single-file and take their seats. Caesar Flickerman bounces up, welcoming and introducing. First in is the girl from district 1, Louise Bonnefoy. Usually, district 1 plays sexy. This year, she apparently plays measured and realistic. Her brother goes next. Someone girls in the audience squeal at the sight of him and shouts. He blows a kiss in their direction. What a flirt.

Then there is district 2. Petra Oxenstierna enters the stage, smiling. She is dressed in blue and white, and Eduard vaguely remembers that was what she wore for her reaping. Her hair is put up in a braided crown. Adorable. Caesar asks her the usual questions, and then the inevitable one comes. “What do you think of having to fight your brother?”

Petra’s face falls, and her eyes widen slightly, as though she is prepared to cry if needed. “I wouldn’t in a million years! Berwald is my brother, and even if it came down to us, I wouldn’t be able to kill him.” The screens show a picture of Berwald’s face. Petra lowers her head, folding her hands in her lap.

When Berwald is called up, it is easy to guess he is supposed to be intimidating. The first question is just as expected, “So, tell us, what do you think of Petra’s statement?”

Silence. Then, “She’s right. If things came down to us, I’d die rather than have to kill her.”

Good-natured conversation passes, before Caesar brings up Berwald’s reaping. The clip of him talking to the boy who was originally reaped lights up every screen. “Timo Väinämöinen, right?” Caesar questions.

Berwald nods.

“Is he a friend of yours? Are you related?”

One of Berwald’s hands clench into a fist, and the light reflects in a ring. “Sort of”, he replies softly.

“You’re killing us!” Caesar exclaims, before leaning forward, eyes glimmering. “Did he come see you afterwards?”

Again Berwald nods.

“And what did he say?”

For a long while Berwald is quiet, his gaze searching the audience as though he expects to see someone there. “He made me promise to return.”

The buzzer goes off, and Berwald is allowed back to his seat. There is a look of defeat on his face. Rosalia goes up. Even from a distance, Eduard sees her trembling. But, with Caesar being Caesar, she soon enough relaxes somewhat, and tells everyone of her brother, Toris, and his amusing friend, Feliks. Friendly. What a fitting theme for her.

The next name called, is Eduard von Bock. Eduard rises, straightens his clothes and joins Caesar. They shake hands and sit down. “Eduard. You know, I had actually heard of you before the reaping. Just rumours. Something about an offer of a job? Here in the Capitol?”

Eduard smiles, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Yes, it is true.”

“And you declined?” Caesar prompts.

“Of course”, Eduard replies with a smirk. “If I agreed, there is no telling what I would be working with.”

Caesar continues asking questions. About his life. About his stylist’s handwork. Of what he thinks about the upcoming Games. What his speciality is. Will be a Career? Everything. Eventually, though, the buzzer goes off and Eduard can escape the cameras.

Michelle Laroche is called up and takes her seat. More talking. Then, the boy from district 4, Lukas Bondevik, comes up. More questions. Lukas, however, plays the role of mystical better than anyone Eduard has ever seen do it. He answers somewhat evasive to certain questions, and Caesar jumps on the opportunity to prod him about it. After Lukas, follows Elizaveta Hedervary. After someone whistles, the question of a possible boyfriend is brought up.

At this, Elizaveta smiles. “I already have one”, she replies.

Caesar’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, could we hear some about him?”

“He’s not what you’d really expect, but he’s great with music!” She waves at the cameras. “I’m looking forward to returning to you, Roderich!”

The buzzer soon goes off, and she is replaced by Ludwig Belischmidt. He mentions something about having three dogs, to which some girls from the crowd calls out. This results in Ludwig blushing, and he coughs into his fists. Caesar laughs. Wendy Morton is called up. She plays the role as self-confident and stylish to the maximum. After her, Alfred F Jones occupies the role of a self-confident hero and looks perfectly relaxed in the spotlight as he laughs, jokes and answer the questions.

After them, goes the girl from district 7, named Laura Krusen. She is kind, no doubt that, and has a good-natured humour. She is followed by Tim Krusen. He, on the other hand, answers only “yes” or “no”, or simply leaves it blank. Once he nearly smiles, and a whisper runs through the crowd. Likely the girls.

Mei Xiao draw cries like “aww” and “cute” from the crowd when she floats up there, looking somewhat ethereal. Her counterpart, Yao Wang, is much the same. Erika Zwingli is, just a Eduard though after the parade, nice and friendly. She giggles more than once, something that he realizes irks him somewhat. Arthur Kirkland, on the other hand, is hot-tempered. He does not watch his mouth, and has some harsh replies.

Iliana Karpusi is called up. She looks like she is still half asleep, and sounds somewhat like it. Until she starts elaborating on the differences between “what if” and “what is”. By the time the buzzer goes off, even Caesar looks somewhat astonished by her philosophical side.

The next tribute is the heartbreaker of the year. Feliciano Vargas comes up, beaming like the sun. The radiant smile remains, until Caesar says, “Last year we also had a participant from district 10 named Vargas. You are not related to him, are you?”

Feliciano’s smile disappears promptly and he stares blankly at Caesar, then a painful smile tugs the corners of his lips upwards. “Yes”, he replies feebly. He laughs weakly. “We… were three siblings. It was my older brother, Lovino, me, and my little brother, Romeo.” It is quiet. Feliciano’s voice would have been possible to hear, even without the microphone. “Two years ago, Romeo was twelve. He was reaped. Lovino, however, volunteered for him. That year…” Feliciano falters for a second, before regaining his voice. “That year, Lovino died. Last year, Romeo was reaped again. He was thirteen. Lovino was dead. I was the eldest and I was supposed to look out for him!” Feliciano’s hands clench into tight fists. “I didn’t. I was too scared of dying, so instead I watched him die...” His voice breaks at the end. He is avoiding the cameras, and his shoulders are trembling.

The City Circle is quiet, as though everyone is feeling this boy’s loss.

“I didn’t stand up for him…” Feliciano whispers, his voice filled with pain and regret.

The buzzer goes off. Feliciano leaves the stage and collapses onto his seat, burying his face in his hands. The cameras follow him for some more moments, before focusing on the girl who has taken his place besides Caesar. She is the one who earned a score of 11. Lien Chung. The interviews continue. Lien is somewhat cold and measured. Cheng Wang is polite and smiles most of the time. He has to answer questions about some friend of his that Eduardo does not remember the name of. Natalya Braginsky is called forth. Compared to her, Lien appears soft and friendly. Ivan Braginsky smiles all the time, but underneath Eduard more feels than sees a mad-man.

Then they leave the stage.

The interviews are over.

The Games begin. 


	13. District 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wendy Morton - Wy  
> Eduard von Bock - Estonia  
> Alfred F. Jones - America

_60 … 59 ... 58 ... 57 …_

It is a perfect circle. In the middle, the Cornocupia stands, shining in the sun. It is a giant golden horn that is at least seven meters high at the mouth, and it is spilling over of everything Wendy knows she needs, but is incapable of gaining. Around lies the less important things. For example, there is a small backpack barely a meter from her feet. The area is flat. In front of her, there is a small lake which is sustained by water from a river further up. Water runs from the lake to her left and splits into a dozen rivers that form small islets. Behind her there is a large area of only meadow, but behind that and to her right a light, welcoming forest covers a hill she does not see the end of. On the other side of the water, there are two hills. The lower is closer, and is crowned by something that looks like ruins. Around and on the taller hill behind, there is forest.

_… 27 … 26 … 25 …_

As soon as the gong goes, Wendy must run. She has seen enough Games to know she wants to escape the bloodbath at any cost. Her gaze wanders along the circle, and she wonders who of these tributes will be the careers. Certainly, that fancy blond one and the girl with the glasses. They are district 1. District 2 could possibly be careers. At least they would for sure have that mountain of a man on the team. That little girl, though, would be useless in the bloodbath. An easy target. District 3 and 4 might be there too, but there is no telling.

_… 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 …_

Wendy arranges her feet, ready to escape as soon as possible. Her heart is beating fast, but she tries to make it slow down. Breath. In, out. In, out.

The gong goes.

She runs. No, more like flies. The ground does not exist, and there is only air underneath her feet. She hears shouts and cries behind her, but resists the urge to glance back. That would be a large mistake. Instead, she keeps on running. The river approaches. Misjudging the distance, she takes another step and prepares to dive, but instead stumbles into the water. She loses footing and slips. Her head goes under and she gasps. Her mouth fills with water. She fights to get up, then finds the ground and pushes herself off. Breaking the surface, she spits water.

First thing she notices: It is not salty.

Second thing she notices: Something passes over her head.

She spins around. A girl, the one from district 1, is coming towards her at top speed, wielding daggers. Not wasting another second, Wendy takes a deep breath and dives back into the water. She was never the best swimmer, but at least she knows the basics. The currents help her, pushing her forward, and the fact that it is not that deep is also positive. Then she pulls over to the side, towards the islet. She crawls up from the water, gasping.

Glancing back, she finds the girl from district 1 has disappeared. Cursing, Wendy gets to her feet and runs. She crosses the islet. Another river meets her, but now she does not hesitate. She dives into it headfirst and fights her way across. A new islet. Another river. A new islet, but this one larger. She switches between running and jogging. When she reaches the other side of the islet, she is forced to stop. The river has to be at least five meters across.

She collapses on the riverbank and leans forward on her hands, breathing. She is not dead yet. In fact, she might have escaped the worst of it. There might still be a chance. She has to clear her head. Think. Running has never saved anyone. She must be clever. What was it Ralph had said?

_“First you need water. If you have water, you can go a long while. You need a shelter and food. Got it? Then, if you have all of that, you can start risking your life.”_

Wendy gets up and turns back, heading into the forest that covers most of her islet. Hopefully, she is the only one here. She begins her search. The ground is mostly old leafs, roots, grass and a few stones. Some of the stones she gathers. That defence would do for now.

Continuing around the islet, she nearly forgets that every step she takes might bring her closer to danger. She starts to enjoy the weather and the nature, and occasionally stops up to listen to the birds sing. This is her islet, and here she will be safe.

It is long past noon. The sun does not provide the same amount of warmth anymore. Wendy has found a hole beneath some of the largest roots. She has covered it up and camouflaged it as best as she can. Now she is searching the ground, hoping to find something that might provide her with food. Berries, maybe. That would not be so bad. She is climbing a slope when she hears it.

A twig snapping.

Crouching down, she scans her surroundings. There is only brown, green and grey.

Another twig snaps.

Whoever it is, he or she is approaching.

Frenetically she searches for anything that can work as a hiding place. A hole, a tree with low branches. A wide tree just a few meters further down the slope catches her sight, and she hurries towards it, keeping as low and quiet as possible. It might be that whoever it is has not noticed her yet.

Upon reaching the tree, she crouches down and presses her back against the bottom of the stem, in between the roots. She closes her eyes and listens.

_Crack. Crack._

More twigs. Obviously, this person is not afraid of being hurt. It does not sound like a heavy person, but who knows? The ground is soft and reduces the sounds quite a bit.

_Thwack._

Her eyes open and she finds herself staring at a knife embedded in the ground just a few centimetres from her feet. The person speeds up. Her heartrate increases. Quickly she gets off the tree. She is about to flee, when a though occurs to her. She grabs the knife and pulls at it. Slowly it leaves the ground.

“Hey!”

She glances up, still pulling at the knife. The person turns out to be the boy from district 3. Eduard something. He comes towards her, down the slope she was climbing earlier. He grips a jagged knife tightly in his hand.

Wendy pulls at her knife. It leaves the ground and she stumbles backwards.

Eduard comes towards her, lifting his own knife. “Look, I’m really sorry, but…” There is something in his eyes. Something Wendy cannot read.

She lifts her knife. It is small compared to his. “You tell me you’re sorry, then kill me?” she asks, trying to play self-confident.

Eduard approaches. She retreats. With one hand extended behind her, she searches for something to put between herself and him. A stem, maybe, or a bush.

“Then you kill me”, Eduard challenges.

Before her brain has fully processed it, she shakes her head. “N-no! I won’t!” The thought of killing him – of making the knife in her hand penetrate his clothes and skin – makes her sick and trembling.

The distance between them lessens. He has an advantage of being above her. “If you don’t kill me, I don’t have a choice!” He raises the knife and strikes.

Wendy pulls back, screams, stumbles backwards and falls. She rolls over once, then lays still on her stomach. Pain. It burns across her chest, but she notices she is not dead. She pushes herself up, put something hits her in the back and her arms give away. The canon goes off. She lays still, breathing and tries to think.

“Wendy?”

A new voice.

Her eyes widen and she struggles to get out from under Eduard. Her chest burns. The weight disappears from her back. First now she notices that it is wet. As is her chest. She sits up. The world spins and she shuts her eyes tightly.

An arm is placed around her shoulders. “C’mon, you’re not dying on me.” She is lifted up. Above her, the roof of leafs is moving. She gasps, trying to take shallow breaths. Her gaze shifts from the roof to something closer. A face is floating above her. Alfred’s face. His hair is somewhat messed up, and his glasses are grimy from mud, water and probably blood. He has a cut at the cheek, but does not appear to be dying of it.

He glances down at Wendy. “You’re gonna live. That cut is nothing. It might feel like hell, but the hero is gonna save you!” He flashes a grin.

She frowns. “Why… are you doing this?”

He blinks, apparently surprised by the question. “Well, I sort of promised Ralph I’d look after you!” He stops and kneels, placing her at the ground. “This is kind of awkward, but, you know, that cut has to be cleaned…”

Wendy stares at him. Then she struggles to sit up and starts unbuckling her belt and peeling off her jacket.

“What are you doing?” Alfred exclaims. “You can’t do that here! Anyone can see you, they might be-”

“Why does it bother you? I’m just as human as anyone else, and if boys can go around showing off their chest, why can’t girls?”

Alfred goes red as a beetroot. “It’s…!”

The conversation gives Wendy some strength, and she takes a slightly deeper breath. Her black singlet is soaked in blood. She lifts it carefully and winces. She sees the cut beneath it. Neither long nor deep, but blood still trickles out and she sees her own flesh. Immediately she drops the singlet and closes her eyes, fighting the sickness. “Look, I don’t care. If it seriously bothers you that much, cover me up so I can get it cleaned.”

He stares at her for another second, before removing his jacket and dropping it beside her. Then he picks up a backpack she has not noticed earlier. It is the one she spotted by the Cornocupia. He digs into it and brings forth a bottle filled with water and two rolls of bandages. She notices he also has ropes in there.

Wendy nods and takes a hold of the edge of her singlet, ready to remove it. Alfred puts the jacket around her shoulders, making it somewhat harder to get out of the wet cloth. She pulls her arms out of it, then drags the singlet over her head. Alfred is staring deliberately in a different direction, his cheeks still somewhat red.

“Sissy”, she snorts, picking up the bottle and trying to wash the wound. It stings. “Have you never seen a girl’s chest?”

“That’s private area!” Alfred replies stubbornly, gaining some more colour to his cheeks.

Getting annoyed by the jacket, she shoots a glare at him. “If I am going to cover up, you should at least hold the jacket so I can see what I am doing. It is impossible this way.”

Alfred peeks quickly at her, before glancing away again.

“Alfred.”

He continues staring in a different direction.

“You’re so goddamn…” She trails off, searching for a fitting word. Finding none, she tries again. “You have no problems killing people, but helping a girl when she needs to clean a cut?”

“Fine!” He gets up from his place a meter away from her, and instead sits down behind her. He takes the jacket and holds it a little out, just enough for her to see what she is doing. “Just get done with it already.”

She pours water onto the cut, then picks up her singlet and finds a somewhat dry part. She presses it against her chest. With one hand, she tries to unroll one of the bandages while keep the singlet in place with the other. After long seconds, she gives up. “Drop the jacket.”

“Are you done?”

“No, but I can’t bandage myself when I have to put pressure on the cut as well!”

Alfred hesitates, but then he actually drops the jacket and picks up one of the bandages. He presses one end against her back, then carefully unrolls it. Once he gets into the job, it goes quickly. She removes the singlet, piece by piece, and he covers her with more bandages. When it is finished, she holds up her singlet. It is soaked in blood and has a hole on the front. Great. Her jacket is no better.

“Here.” Alfred puts his jacket around her shoulders. He rolls up the sleeves so it will fit her. Then he gets up. He gives her a hand and helps her up as well. “Do you have a shelter somewhere?”

“I’ll show you.”


	14. The Families

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toris Galante - Lithuania  
> Rosalia Galante - Latvia  
> Eduard von Bock - Estonia  
> Feliks Łukasiewicz - Poland  
> Young Soo Wang - South Korea  
> Kiku Wang - Japan  
> Mei Xiao - Taiwan  
> Mikkel Bondevik - Denmark  
> Emil Bondevik - Iceland  
> Michelle Laroche - Seychelles  
> Jia Long Wang - Hong Kong  
> Cheng Wang - Macau

“I want a glass of strawberry milk and one of those honey-biscuits!”

“You know the strawberry milk is limited, and no one bought honey-biscuits at the market today”, Toris replies, preparing a cup of coffee for himself. Coffee is one of the cheapest products in district 3. Aside from tea and milk.

“Then warm milk!”

He laughs softly. Not as if he had not been preparing it anyway. He dips a finger into the milk to check if it is warm enough yet. Satisfied, he takes it off the heater and pours it over in a cup. He brings both cups into the living room where they will be watching the recap of the deaths of the first day of the Games.

Feliks is sprawled on the sofa, apparently owning it all. He leans his head back on the armrest, grinning at Toris. “You think Rosa and Ed'll do well?”

Toris does not smile. Instead, he frowns slightly. “I hope Rosalia survives”, he only replies. He places the cups at the table, then moves Feliks’ legs off the sofa so he has space to sit as well. Feliks dives for the cup of warm milk and sniffs it, before taking a tentative sip. He immediately puts it down, pouting.

“It’s, like, way too hot!” he complains.

“Just let it cool”, Toris answers. He picks up the remote-control and turns on the television. The recap of the first death is already playing. Apparently it was an early death, seeing as they start with the countdown.

He searches the circle of tributes, hoping to spot his sister. It does not take long. Even from the distance between them, he knows she is trembling. Hopefully she is debating in which direction to run to get away safely.

Toris takes a sip of his coffee.

The gong goes. 

Rosalia dives forward, towards the Cornocupia, grasping for something on the ground. Toris chokes on the coffee and starts coughing. He puts the cup at the table. Then he glances up at the screen. Just in time to see Rosalia dodge a boy at the size of a mountain. Instead, she is faced with the girl-tribute from district 12.

The girl punches Rosalia in the stomach, then a blow to the head. Rosalia stumbles and falls. Whatever she had gotten a hold of, the girl pulls it out of her hands. Something shines for a second, then it disappears.

Rosalia visibly gasps. Her hands go to her stomach and she tries to pull away. Instead, the girl stabs her again. Something in between a sob and a wince escapes her. That is the last sound she makes.

Toris stares at the screen. _… What?_ It had happened far too quickly. He barely notices it when Feliks turns the television off. Rosalia has just died. No, not just now. She must have died hours ago. Just some minutes past 10 in the morning, when he was at work. _I didn’t know_. That is his only thought. His sister has been dead for hours, and he has not known!

He puts his head in his hands. Tries to make sense of it all.

“Toris?” Feliks sounds far away and very quiet. “Toris, I didn’t… I totally thought… I’m sorry…”

“We didn’t know”, Toris replies. His voice is hoarse. His throat hurts. “You didn’t know. _I_ didn’t know…” His voice breaks at the end, and he closes his eyes.

An arm slips around his shoulders. At first, he tries to pull away from the offered comfort, but then puts his arms around Feliks. He buries his face in the Feliks’ neck. Feels the tears burn his eyes. “I never thought she would survive, but…” If he never thought she would, why does it hurt so much? He squeezes his eyes shut. “I hoped…”

Feliks says nothing, only holds him.

.

Young lays sprawled across Kiku’s lap. He stares at the screen where colours flash past so fast, some even appear to be blending. People are beating each other. A girl falls over, and… Kiku covers his eyes with a hand. “Hey!” he protests, trying to fight Kiku’s hand.

“You do not need to see this”, Kiku says. “It is…” Kiku trails off and Young pushes his hand away. He glances up at Kiku. Kiku is staring at the screen. Following his gaze, Young sees that girl, Mei, lying at the ground, on her stomach. She does not move, and her mouth is frozen. A boom sounds somewhere.

Mei’s face appears on the screen, along with name and a number.

“Kiku?” Young asks, glancing at him.

Kiku shakes his head slightly, his jaws clenched.

Young glances at the screen, but the focus has moved on. Then he glances back at Kiku. He knows Kiku likes Mei, and he has seen them do things similar to what mum and dad do. Kiss with open mouths, hold hands, go out in the late evenings to just talk. He does not fully grasp the concept of ‘love’, but he thinks Kiku loves Mei.

“Kiku, what happened to Mei?” Young questions, sitting up. He stares expectantly at the elder.

“She has… gone to a different place”, Kiku replies, his voice tight.

Young frowns. “What does ‘dead’ mean?”

Kiku turns away. “Please, do not ask.”

“But I want to know!”

Kiku lifts him up by the armpits, placing him at the sofa and leaving him there. Young hears him disappear upstairs. Then the door to Kiku’s room closes. He turns to the screen, tilting his head as he curiously continues watching. He spots big brother’s ponytail for a brief second, and smiles.

.

Mikkel cleans the table. It is midday, and they would usually have their hands full with managing the bakery. Today, however, it is quiet. Everyone is at home, glued to the screen to watch the Games. There are a few people in the bakery too, but they are all gathered around that one screen in the corner, hanging on to every picture as though it is their life. Even Emil is sitting there. Emil tries to look casual and do some reading for school, but most of the time he is staring at the screen.

Sighing, Mikkel straightens and runs a hand through his hair. He glances at the recap of the deaths. Three deaths has so far been shown. The girls from district 3 and 8, and Michelle. He and Lukas used to be good friends with Michelle, but they have grown apart. There is still a stab of pain when he thinks of district 4 without her. It is for sure going to be slightly less lively.

Glancing towards the baskets with bakeries, covered by cloths, the idea of bringing something to Michelle’s family hits him. He adds it to his list of ‘to do’s, and notes to have Emil come with him. Offering their condolences will only be right, especially since a member of their family is a tribute as well.

.

The girl from district 12 is good with the dagger. That is the first thing Jia notices. So far, she has killed two other tributes, and not even five minutes has passed. However, he would not have remembered, had it not been for the fact that she is headed straight towards Cheng.

Jia hugs a pillow tightly, and wants to shout and let Cheng know there is danger, but there are too many miles separating them. Cheng would not even hear a faint echo.

The girl lashes out with her dagger. It is impossible Cheng knew she was coming, but still he gets away with nothing but a scratch. He spins around to face her. Again she lashes out, and again Cheng dodges. The girl fakes a step and her dagger sinks into Cheng’s shoulder.

Jia bites his pillow, staring at the screen. A muffled, “No”, escapes him.

The girl pulls the dagger down, cutting open a large, deep gash. Cheng stumbles backwards. His jacket is quickly becoming soaked in blood. He grabs her wrists and twists. The girl tumbles to the ground and Cheng follows, falling on top of her. Cheng takes a hold of the dagger and pulls it out of his chest. His face twists in pain. Jia can nearly imagine he sees white bones in the depth of the wound.

Cheng lifts the dagger, his arm trembling. The girl twists to get away. She hits, bites and claws, and red scratches appear at Cheng’s face. Then he lets the dagger fall heavily. It sinks to the hilt between her ribs. She gasps for breath, even after Cheng rolls off her.

It is hard to breath. Even after lifting his head from the pillow, Jia has to swallow. Once, twice. He coughs. The tears start running down his cheeks. There is no way Cheng is going to survive that sort of wound. Even if he managed to escape. He is dead.

Jia hugs the pillow tightly. His gaze goes to one of the few pictures at the walls. It is a black-white one, in which they are grinning at the camera. Cheng has an arm around his shoulders, and he himself is missing one of the front teeth but grinning widely and laughing.

Quiet sobs shake his body.


	15. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig Belischmidt - Germany  
> Feliciano Vargas - Italy  
> Eduard von Bock - Estonia  
> Rosalia Galante - Latvia  
> Michelle Laroche - Seychelles  
> Mei Xiao - Taiwan  
> Cheng Wang - Macau  
> Natalya Braginsky - Belarus

Ludwig is glad he took his lessons seriously, unlike his brother. The second he escaped the bloodbath, he followed the edge of the lake until he made it to the river. From there on, he followed it upwards until he was lucky enough to find an old bridge that had fallen apart. Good thing the river was shallow. Most of the stones the bridge had been made of still poked up from the surface and worked perfectly.

After crossing the river, he found a path that led up the hill, through the forest and to the top. The ruins were the perfect hideout. From there, he could see people coming and going, but no one would see him. Soundlessly making his way along what must had been the main street, he found several walls and large buildings. There were towers and two-story buildings. At least one piece of the wall had given away to the natural powers, and small trees, moss, mushrooms and some ivy had taken over. In the middle of the place, however, he found a large ruin. Only the main circle was still standing. The archways let light into the circle. The tops of the arches met in the middle, lighting up a long-since dry fountain.

Now, it is late. The sky is clear and the moon is nearly full, lighting up the surroundings. Ludwig sits at the bottom step of one of the ruins, hidden in the shadow. He is waiting. Finally, the anthem starts playing. The seal of the Capitol appears in the sky.

Ludwig takes a deep breath, ready for whatever may come. He does not have any personal relation to any of the other tributes, but the thought of the youngest ones dying hurts. And then there is Vargas from district 10. No matter how he tosses and turns on it, he cannot put aside the fact that Vargas is the only surviving of three siblings. He tries to tell himself Vargas only said it to get sponsors, but why should the boy lie if everyone could go back and check whether his words were true or not?

Ludwig leans his head against the cold stones. The faces appear in the sky, one by one. Both the tributes from district 3 are dead. Eduard von Bock and Rosalia Galante. The girl from district 4, Michelle Laroche, is dead. Mei Xiao, the girl from district 8, is dead. The boy from district 11, and the girl from district 12 have died as well. Cheng Wang and Natalya Braginsky. Only six tributes dead so far. That means there are still eighteen tributes alive, including himself.

The show is over. He climbs the stairs to first floor where he has gathered some moss and leafs to sleep on. He lays down and covers himself up with the jacket. It is not impressive nor particularly safe, but the stones all around the floor will suffice as protection if someone attacks him.

He drifts off into a light slumber.

Just before dawn, he wakes up to hear twigs breaking in the street below. He lays quiet, listening, but does not hear it again. The night is once again quiet.


	16. District 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura Krusen - Belgium  
> Tim Krusen - Netherlands

The leaf is nearly as large as her own hand. She tears off a small piece. It makes a sound as though she is ripping cloth. _Ritch._ There goes another piece. She tears off a third piece. Even if there is someone close, she does not care as much as she probably should. She is just another tribute, so what difference would it make, dying now instead of later?

_Shut up_ , she tells herself firmly and drops the leaf. Tim told her to run, hide and stay safe until he found her. She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing warmth into her upper arms. The morning is not cold, but her still damp clothes hold the coldness of the night. Her hideout is raw and the smell of earth and rotting leafs envelope her.

She shudders and glances up through the roof of her shelter. Between the leafs and branches she sees a sky that is lighting up. She should probably get a move on. Maybe try to find something edible. However, she is dead tired after having been awake all night.

The canon goes off.

Something by her right foot moves.

Laura jumps and pulls up against one of the walls of her hideout. Some leafs on the ground shift, then a small head pokes out. Black eyes stare at her. They blink. Then they are gone.

She lets out a relieved breath as her tired brain connects the animal to the name ‘mouse’. Her thoughts return to the canon. Someone has just died. Who is it? No one can have starved to death yet. It is only the second day. Likely, someone is moving about.

The thought scares her. What if the dead one is Tim? She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She will just have to wait the day. By nightfall, she will know for sure.

Long minutes pass as she keeps tormenting herself with thoughts of what could have happened. Why is not Tim with her yet? For all she knows, she is waiting for nothing. He could have died at the bloodbath when he fought to get supplies. And if he is dead, it will only be a question of time before she dies. She has nothing to protect herself with, and no means of getting food.

At first she is not aware of it. Then, as it approaches, she hears it.

Steps.

Her eyes widen and she pulls further into the cold shadows of her hideout. Maybe the one who made the kill earlier is coming for her? Does he know where she is? Will her death be short and painless? Or is he one who enjoys seeing his victims suffer? Is it even a ‘he’?

Laura swallows her fear and leans forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the person while not being spotted. She very carefully moves some branches and peers out.

The moment she sees the hair, she knows she is safe. She gets to her feet and bursts out from her hideout, overcome with joy. She reaches out for him and is so close to wrapping her arms around him, when-

Icy eyes stare into her own. Cold metal presses against her throat, drawing blood. It runs down, colouring her jacket.

She swallows. “T-Tim…?”

It takes a moment, but then he lowers the short sword, drops it and pulls her into his arms. He is wet and cold, yet breathing heavily. As she wraps her arms around him, she feels how he relaxes slightly. Then he takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead.

She blinks. “What happened? Did you hit your head?”

He frowns. “No. Why?”

“You kissed me.”

“Am I not allowed to show that I am relieved you are alive?”

Laura forces a smile and a laugh. “Of course. I was just surprised.”

He nods and takes off a backpack she had not noticed before. Opening it, he shows off bandages, ropes, a pocket-knife, a bottle and a bread. At the sight of bread, Laura’s stomach rumbles. Tim says nothing, only cuts a chunk of the bread and hands it to her. He cuts a chunk for himself as well and they eat in silence.

“What do we do now?” Laura eventually asks, eating the bread slowly to make it last.

“Stay alive and fight”, Tim replies. “If it comes down to only us, you will go home.”

“What?” she exclaims. “I’m not going to kill you!”

He shrugs. “Then I’ll kill myself.”

She stares at him.


	17. District 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred F. Jones - America  
> Matthew W. Jones - Canada  
> Erika Zwingli - Liechtenstein

“Piece of shit!”

Alfred clenches the dagger, then drives it into the closest stem with all his might. It buries itself to the handle. There he stands for a while, trembling. He leans his head against the stem, breathing heavily. “I’m such an idiot…” His voice trembles and he shuts his eyes tightly.

_One fucking promise!_

He pulls the dagger out of the stem and sheaths it. With long strides, he heads back to the hole in which they had spent the night curled up. Alone it would have been a cold and night, but when they were two they had shared heat and somehow gotten enough sleep.

Alfred gathers their things in the backpack. The dirty bandages he leaves. He bundles up all the rope and takes a quick round to check and undo all the snares. Out of it, he gets a dead hare and stumbles over some plants that should be able quicken the healing-process. He feels as though the gamemakers are laughing at him. If he only had this a little earlier…

Returning to the hole, he makes sure he has both knives and dagger. Then he heads towards the river. He does not care if anyone hears him. Someone is going to pay, be it the murderer or anyone else. He strides into the river. At the deepest, it only reaches to the middle of his thighs. Fighting the currents, he gets up on the next islet. He follows the shore all way around. Crosses another river. A new islet. A third river. Then he sees the Cornocupia. Maybe he should try attacking the careers? He laughs at himself. They would take him out before he got a chance to hurt even one of them.

He continues across the plain that separates the forest and the river. He is at a safe distance from the Cornocupia, so even if someone comes, he will be able to escape. But no one comes, and he can freely make his way through the forest in search of someone to kill.

Suddenly, he freezes in his tracks. He swallows. What is he doing? He pulls off the backpack and digs forth the bottle of water. Drinks half of the content. _What am I doing?_ The answer comes far too easily and guiltily. He is planning to kill someone – anyone – in hope of lessening his pain.

Once, when they were younger, he and Matthew were playing in the garden. A bee stung Matthew, and Alfred killed it. Then he began hunting down every single bee that was around. Matthew stopped him, asking, “Why do you kill all of them? It was only that one which hurt me, and besides, they are an important part of the world around us.”

He stars moving again, slowly, but lost in thoughts. He vaguely notices the ground is sloping down into a valley. Why is he killing all of them? He wishes Matthew was there with him, then shakes his head. No, he certainly does not wish Matthew that, but maybe that they had some means of communicating. Someone to seek comfort in.

A girl stands just a few meters away from him. She has blond hair cut around her shoulders, pale skin and large eyes. She is the girl from district 9. She is defenceless.

“Please don’t kill me!” she exclaims, holding her arms up as though it will protect her.

Alfred throws one of his knives at her feet. “I don’t care”, he replies, surprised at his own words. “Fight me, or flea and die at the mercy of the careers.”

Her eyes grow even larger as she debates this. Then she picks up the knife. She weighs it in her hand, judging him. She laughs. A faint sound that barely reaches his ears. “I have little chances no matter what I choose, right?” Barely done with the sentence, she jumps forth, lashing out with the knife.

He is surprised that she fights. He expected her to run. Her sudden attack leaves him with a cut across the arm. It burns, but he ignores it. He leaps forth, knocking her off her feet with a sweep of the arm. She loses the knife and reaches for it. Before she has a chance to get to it, he places a foot at her shoulder, pinning her down.

“I can take your life now, quickly and painlessly”, Alfred says, “or leave you to the Careers. This will be your last chance to choose, so choose well.”

She stares up at him, hesitating. She is quiet for so long, he wonders if she has lost the ability to speak. Then she breaths, “Painlessly?”

“Nearly”, he replies.

Their gazes lock, and he sees sorrow, fear and accept in her eyes. One last word passes across her lips. “Please…”

Alfred kneels beside her. He takes her head in a firm grip. Takes a deep breath. Then twists. The crack of her neck breaking is disgusting. He swallows back sickness and glances at her face. It is a mistake. Her eyes are wide open, one of them slightly twitching. Her mouth is open, a scream caught in her throat.

The canon goes off.


	18. District 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petra Oxenstierna - Sealand  
> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Lukas Bondevik - Norway  
> Louise Bonnefoy - Monaco  
> Francis Bonnefoy - France  
> Arthur Kirkland - England

The food is good. In the morning someone sent Berwald some still steaming pancakes. He refused to share it, and Petra is sure that it was from Timo. At least her brother has been more quiet than usual, withdrawing completely from conversation.

“Lukas!” Petra drops down beside him, chewing an apple.

He glances up from the map he is drawing in the sand.

“How long do you think it is till we can go home again?”

He frowns, then continues drawing.

“C’mon, don’t be like that!”

“First, there is nothing ‘we’”, he clarifies. “Only one of us can go home, and Berwald is set that it will be you, because you are the youngest.” He draws a bend of the river. “To some extent, I agree with him, even though I would like to see my brothers and our bakery-shop again.” He erases a line and redraws it. “However, I am convinced Louise and Francis are only waiting for their chance to kill the rest of us, so they can get the glory to themselves.”

“… Really?”

Lukas straightens and eyes her. She is fairly sure she sees her own reflection in his eyes. He ruffles her hair carefully, then gets up and heads towards the others. Over his shoulder, he says, “You are too innocent.”

Petra glances after him, then turns her gaze to the surroundings, chewing her apple thoughtfully. What did Lukas mean? That she does not understand their situation? That she is not strong enough? That she is not old enough? Her mind narrows his monotone words down to small insults.

She throws the apple away and gets to her feet. She follows the shore, kicking occasional stones, until Louise calls her over. Louise constantly looks somewhat judgemental, but in a much less intimidating way than Berwald. The only time Petra has seen her smile, was when Louise was teasing Francis because of something.

Louise has a short sword and two pointy knives attached to her belt. “You have your dagger?” she prompts.

Petra unsheathes it, and Louise nods satisfied.

“We are going scouting. Francis stays here, Berwald and Lukas will take this side of the shore, while you and I follow the river to find a place to cross. Got it?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Don’t wander off on your own, and don’t make any noise.”

Louise starts walking, and Petra hurries after. The day is peaceful and nothing appears to be happening. It is nice, in fact. Petra hums softly to herself as she skips along, occasionally kicking stones into the water or picking up a nice shell, then throwing it away.

After walking for about an hour, they go into the forest because Louise is sure she spotted a hare, and wants to try take it down. Petra follows at a slightly slower pace, and gets caught up when she finds a patch of strawberries. At home, she has never had strawberries, but she remembers it from another time, somewhere else.

She crouches down and starts picking into her mouth, enjoying the sweet and fresh taste of it. Suddenly something or someone crashes into her from the side, and she is laying at her back, a fist wrapped in bandages and holding a stone hovering above her.

Too stunned to make a sound, she stares up at the boy pinning her down. She remembers him from the parade. Kirkland. The one with the eyebrows that were just as thick as her own, before the stylists made them thinner.

Kirkland stares down at her, eyes wide and looking as though he wants to say something. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Like a fish on land. He removes himself from her and drops the stone. Slowly he backs up. “You…” He swallows. “You’re supposed to be dead…”

“What?” Petra whispers.

“When she ran off with you. They told us you were both dead!” Kirkland stares accusingly at her, as though it is a problem that she is alive.

Louise’s footsteps approach, and Kirkland disappears soundlessly between the trees. “Petra! What happened?” Louise kneels beside her, and Petra finally sits up.

“Nothing”, she replies quietly. “Let’s go.”

Louise eyes her worriedly for a few seconds, but then nods. They return to the shore. Soon they find an old bridge in ruins. Crossing it, they find themselves on the other side of the river and the lake.

It looks exactly the same as on their side.

“Should we not go up to the ruins?” Petra questions as Louise starts leading along the shore.

“No. More than half of the remaining tributes are likely hiding there.”

With a sigh of disappointment, Petra follows. She had been looking forward to exploring the old ruins. That would have been much more fun. If Erland had been there, they could have run off while Louise was not watching, and gone on adventures together.

Petra loses herself in a little dream-world, in which Erland is with her, and they are fighting giants who looks like the boy-tributes from district 5, 7 and 12. Tall mountains of humanity with inhuman strength. But Petra and Erland are too quick for them, and together they manage to bring down all the giants.

Louise brings her out of her day-dreaming when she finds traps that has been put up. Then a few more in between the trees. She starts undoing them, gathering what she can to personal use. Petra watches, then does the same. It would be bad if animals became trapped.

After undoing three traps, she gets up and glances about to find no other in sight. She searches in a slightly wider circle and loses Louise of sight. Petra is about to return, when she spots a last trap. She hurries towards it and starts undoing it when a shadow falls over her. She glances up.

This time, she screams.

* * *

 

Berwald and Lukas returns to find Francis already cooking dinner. He is frying the fish Lukas caught in the river in the morning, and has apparently found some spices.

“About time!” Francis calls over to them. “The food is nearly done, and is well past five already! Did you see Louise and Petra along your way?”

“No”, Lukas replies. “They are probably just around the corner.”

As he says it, someone comes into view along the shore, rapidly increasing in size until they see Louise running towards them, carrying Petra at her back. Berwald instantly starts worrying. Why is she carrying Petra? What has happened?

Louise is short of breath when she makes it. “Been… running for… an hour…” she gasps. “Maybe more…” She drops to the ground and lets Petra off her back.

Berwald rushes forward and catches Petra, then carefully lowers her to the ground. Petra’s eyes are closed and her face is pale. There is sweat at her forehead and her brows are furrowed, as though she is fighting.

“Petra?” he asks, completely blocking out the others.

Petra’s eyes flutter half-open, and she gazes glassily up at him. “Ber… wald…” she croaks. One of her hands finds its way to his shoulder and grips the fabric tightly. Her other hand is pressed against her side.

Carefully Berwald tries to remove her hand to see the wound he is certain is there. It is easy to pry her hand off, but when he sees it all hope disappears. It is too deep and she has lost too much blood.

“Berwald…” she calls again, her voice still hoarse.

“You’re going to be all right”, Berwald interrupts. “We’ll patch you up. It’s just a small bruise.”

“Berwald.” More insistent.

“Don’t worry.”

“Brother.”

He glances at her face, forcing his sight to stay clear. “What…?”

“I need… an answer. In the forest… I met Kirkland… District 9, I think. He didn’t kill me.” She closes her eyes, taking some painful breaths. Warm blood runs from the wound, even though Berwald’s hand now presses against it. “Said that I… should’ve been dead long ago. Am I… really your sister?”

His breath hitches. She was not asking this question. “No…” His voice trembles slightly. He was only five and a half, and Erland barely six months, when their father came home carrying the small body. He presented the girl-baby as Petra, and said she was going to be Berwald’s little sister and Erland’s twin-sister, and that they should treat her as though she really was their sister.

Gently, Berwald cradles Petra in his arms. He presses their foreheads together. “It doesn’t matter”, he whispers. “Blood doesn’t matter. You’re my sister at heart.”

Petra breaths a nearly soundless laughter. “Tell everyone good bye… big brother…”

The canon goes off.

He hugs her limp body even tighter, shutting his eyes tightly and rocking back and forth. Petra is gone. Disappeared, and there is nothing he can do about it. She will never smile again. Never laugh. She will never demand he help her choose a dress for the next reaping, and she will never squeal when he tickles her.

She is gone, and only a gash in his heart is left.

A hand at his shoulder makes him glance up. Lukas is kneeling beside him. Lukas does not smile, but he does not cry either. He does not show emotions. “That was a good death”, he says. “She is glad she was with you in her last moment alive.”

“H-how…?”

“You don’t see it, but her spirit is here. Grieve her, then let her go and cherish the memories you have of thirteen years with her.”

“Good God, is that boy wise and crazy”, Francis comments, eyeing Lukas with a new sort of interest and a half smile.

Lukas glares at him. “Show some respect.”

“What?”

“He is right”, Louise agrees, glancing at Francis. “Even though someone had to die eventually, we should all take a minute of silence to grieve Petra, then share our memories of her. What do you think, Berwald?”

Berwald glances down at his sister. She is slowly turning stiff. He presses a kiss against her forehead, then rises and carries her away from the Cornocupia, down to the shore. He places her in the water, carefully washing away all traces of blood. He makes sure her eyes are closed, then folds her arms over her chest.

The others slowly join him. They all bow their heads and close their eyes, not a single word passing between them. While Berwald stands like that, their last happy moments replay in his head. On the train, when the radio was playing and she pulled him to his feet and demanded a dance. Choosing a dress for her reaping. Reading a bed-time story.

He lifts his head and blinks away the tears. Strange, how the sun is shining. “Good bye… little sister”, he whispers. “May you be happy wherever you are now.”


	19. District 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iliana Karpusi - Greece  
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam

The wind plays with Iliana’s hair. The only sound is birds singing and waves washing against the shore. Even though the sea is far below her, she still smells the salt. Her jacket lays underneath her, and beside her lays a collection of fruits, berries and nuts.

Thoughtfully she gazes down at it. It is getting late, and she needs water. She knows where Feliciano hides, and she knows he will be happy to share anything he has, but to go and ask him would be cheating.

She gets up and puts on her jacket. Her food she puts into the different pockets. She will have to store that away first.

Quietly she makes her way in between the trees and down towards the valley that separates the two hills on this side of the lake. When she finds the tree she has claimed as her own, she climbs up to the point where the main stem splits and makes a perfect nest. There she leaves all the food.

Returning to the ground, she follows the valley around the last hill. It is a walk that takes between one and two hours one way, and she has plenty of time to enjoy the nature. She spots some mockingjays, and whistles a soft tune. After some moments of silence, they pick up the tune, singing it to each other.

When she spots the lake, she speeds up. She falls to her knees beside the river and drinks until all traces of thirst has left her body. Then she stays there, eyeing the careers on the opposite side of the lake. They are four. She recognizes the tributes from district 1, as well as the boy-tribute from district 2. The last is probably the boy from district 4, seeing that district 3 has been out for more than a day now. She wonders where the girl from district 2 is, then remembers the canon a few hours earlier. Could it be that one of the careers was dead?

Considering this, she decides that she might have a chance, if she manages to stay hidden and no one actively hunts her. She gets up and starts heading back towards the valley and her tree. It is really getting dark now. Soon the anthem will start playing, and they will see who died that day.

The shadows are getting long and deep. Very suddenly – a little too suddenly for her liking – something closes around her ankle and the world turns upside down. She yelps, then gasps. Is she just imagining she sees the outlines of a person not far away?

She searches for the rope she knows is tied around her leg and tries to undo the knot.

“Looks like my traps _did_ work, after all”, a voice whispers just by her ear.

Iliana turns her head, trying to see the person. Amber eyes stare back at her. She knows this person. It was the girl who got 11 in training. Lien Chung, district 11.

“You are going to kill me.” Not a question. Iliana sees in the amber eyes that this girl means business. She has nothing to lose and nothing to gain. She will accept it, whether she wins or not.

“Yes”, Lien replies. She unsheathes a dagger.

Iliana is quiet for a long while, then asks, “Is there no way we can work together?”

“I work better alone.”

That, and amber eyes, is the last thing Iliana hears and sees before the world goes blurry. She gasps at the hot pain that jags through her. She barely is aware of herself whimpering, and nearly soundlessly begging for the pain to be over.

Then everything becomes white fog.


	20. The Families

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ralph Morton - Australia  
> Kyle Morton - New Zealand  
> Wendy Morton - Wy  
> Alfred F. Jones - America  
> Basch Zwingli - Switzerland  
> Erika Zwingli - Liechtenstein  
> Sadik Karpusi - Turkey  
> Iliana Karpusi - Greece  
> Dimitris Karpusi - Cyprus  
> Berkant Karpusi - Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus

They have prepared nothing. Kyle sits in the armchair, a blanket around his shoulders, and Ralph sits at the floor, leaning against his legs.

“She was perfectly fine yesterday”, Kyle tries to say.

Ralph only pulls even tighter together, looking even more miserable than he has since Wendy was reaped. They both know Wendy is not going to survive for long, and just wait in pained tension for it to be over. To know she is as safe as she can ever be again.

Kyle swallows and pulls the blanket closer around his shoulders.

The anthem starts playing.

When the recap starts playing, Ralph visibly freezes, before something in between a moan and a sob escapes him. Something breaks inside Kyle, and he slips off the armchair to sit beside the elder. He wraps the blanket around both of them, and Ralph leans against him, refusing to look at the recap. “Turn it off”, he mutters.

When Kyle does nothing, he says a little louder, “Turn it off!”

“I want to see how…” Kyle’s voice breaks at the end.

Wendy climbs out of the hideout she shares with Alfred, and tells him she will go check on the snares and get water. She will be back in a moment. He tells her to shout if anything happens.

She checks the first two snares. They produce a hare and some sort of bird. The third and last snare is empty. She heads towards the river and kneels at the side, preparing to skin the prey. She rolls up the sleeves of Alfred’s jacket to her elbows, and even hums softly to herself.

Behind her, the boy from district 7 appears. He freezes for a moment, but then continues, straight towards Wendy. He has a weapon ready.

“We’ve been lucky”, she calls, not glancing back. “This should be enough for two or three days, maybe even longer, if we divide it carefully!” She holds up the hare by the ears and turns around, showing it off. “Look, Alfred, it-” Her eyes go wide and her lips part as she gasps.

Kyle snaps for breath, forcing himself to keep watching.

The boy pulls back, bringing with him the weapon. It is red in the early morning light.  He gathers the hunt, then wades out in the river and disappears.

Wendy just stands there, her breath coming in short gasps. She stumbles forwards a few steps, before tripping. She falls on her side on the small stones. Screams. Curls up, pressing her hands against the added wound. Some blood starts trickling between the stones, creating a tiny, tiny stream towards the river. The water is coloured red.

“Wendy!”

Alfred comes running. He falls to his knees beside her. “What happened? Never mind. We’ll patch you up, don’t worry. It’s fine.” He keeps talking as he gently, hesitantly, turns her over on her back. He finds the wound.

She gasps when he accidentally touches it. “It hurts”, she whimpers. “I’m going to die now, right?”

“No!” Alfred exclaims, but the desperation in his voice is clear. He lowers his voice slightly. “No, you’re not going to die. I won’t allow it. Never.” He lifts her upper body into his arms, brushing her fringe from her face. “I promise, you’re not dying. It’s just a small cut. Like yesterday. You didn’t die then, did you? You’ll be fine.”

Wendy breaths out an agonized laughter, which then turns to a cry when Alfred presses his hand against the wound to stop the bleeding. She claws at his hand, trying to break free. Then her hand goes limp. Her breath is short and the pain is clear in her face. “Thanks… for trying…” she manages. Her gaze turns unfocused.

“You’re not saying good bye!” Alfred shouts. He takes her face in his hands, shaking her slightly. “C’mon, you’re not dying on me! Don’t you dare! I promised I’d help you win, and you’re not going to die now! You’re not…”

His words disappear when the canon fires.

Finally, Kyle turns off the television. He wishes he listened when Ralph asked him to turn it off the first time. Now he wraps his arms around Ralph’s neck, begging for comfort. Ralph sneaks his arms around him, holding him tightly. They are both crying, even though they knew it would come, sooner or later.

* * *

 

Basch is sitting in the living room. It is late evening. Outside, the stars are visible at the sky. His only light is that of the television as the recap of the deaths play. In his hands, he has a cup of tea. It is steaming warm, but he still feels cold.

He watches as Erika heads towards her shelter, when she stops dead in her tracks. The boy from district 6 is standing there. Erika squeaks, begging for mercy, and Basch is surprised when the boy throws one of his knives at her feet. _Pick it up! Fight!_ Basch’s mind yells. As though she hears him, she picks it up, weighing it. Then she jumps forward, lashing out towards the boy.

He easily knocks her to the ground and pins her down. “I can take your life now, quickly and painlessly”, he says, “or leave you to the Careers. This will be your last chance to choose, so choose well.”

Basch is sitting at the edge of the chair. His knuckles have gone white from holding the cup too tightly.

She stares up at the boy, hesitating. Then she breaths, “Painlessly?”

“Nearly”, he replies.

Their gazes lock. One last word passes across her lips. “Please…”

The boy kneels beside her. He takes her head in a firm grip.

“No!” Basch yells.

The boy takes a deep breath.

“Leave her be, you monster!” The teacup is laying at the floor, shattered in a billion pieces. The tea makes a puddle that will have to be cleaned up later.

The boy twists her head in one, powerful motion.

Erika’s mouth opens, as though to scream, and her eyes widen. Barely two seconds pass, then the canon goes off.

“No!” Basch is at his feet, standing before the screen and trying to will what he has just seen to be untrue. “Monster! You piece of shit! You despicable being! You…” He searches for the words to describe his hatred against this boy – this inhuman person – who has just taken away his joy in life.

Nothing.

He punches the screen, yelling in defiance. It buzzes, the colours turning to black and white. It turns to a pixelated snowstorm. Another punch. The screen goes black and the television switches off with a last hum.

His fist is bleeding, and shards of the screen are stuck in his knuckles. The pain as he rashly removes them is nothing, compared to what squeezes his heart. With the elbow, he gives the television a push. It does not budge. Then another one. Finally, the binding keeping it to the wall gives away and it crashes to the floor.

Basch spins around, searching for something to throw. Something that can break, just as easily as his heart. His gaze lands on the plate left at the table after his frugal supper. He strides back, reaching out to grab it when the floor suddenly disappears underneath him. His vision goes black.

When he opens his eyes, his head is throbbing. He stares up at the roof. It is grey. The floor beneath him is wet. Right. He dropped the teacup. The tea is cold. Erika is cold. There is a burning pain in his chest. A pain he wants to remove. He grips the shirt, just above his heart. Clenches the fabric.

His throat hurts. His eyes burn. He blinks once. Then they spill over. Painfully hot tears run from the corners of his eyes.

Erika will never come home.

* * *

 

“I want biscuit! Give me biscuit!”

Sadik shakes his head and picks up Berkant. “No, you can’t have them.”

Berkant pouts and his eyes water. “But I want biscuit…”

“You’ve already had your biscuit”, Sadik points out as he carries the four-years old out of the kitchen and into the living room. Ten years old Dimitris sits perched on the sofa, watching the recap of the deaths with wide eyes.

Suddenly he screeches. “Sadik! It’s Iliana! They’re showing big sister!”

Sadik’s eyes widen and he crosses the living room in a few strides, dropping down beside Dimitris with Berkant at his lap. Berkant hides his face in Sadik’s shirt, while Dimitris snuggles into his side.

The screen is darker than it has been for the previous killings. Iliana is making her way through the forest, towards a destination only she knows. She looks lost in thoughts. Suddenly she yelps as she is turned upside down, dangling from a solid branch in the tree above her.

Dimitris whimpers softly, and Sadik wraps an arm around him.

Iliana claws at her ankle, trying to find the rope that for sure is there.

From the shadows, the girl from district 11 appears. She looks like a feline, preparing to pounce her pray. “Looks like my traps _did_ work, after all”, she whispers in Iliana’s ear.

Iliana tries to turn around. “You are going to kill me”, she then states, relaxing from her struggles to get free. She just hangs there, limp.

“She has to fight!” Dimitris exclaims.

Sadik says nothing, even though he already knows where this is going. He pulls both the children closer, holding them as tight as he dares to protect them from the images he knows will haunt him for the rest of his life. If Berkant is lucky, he might not remember this moment, nor that he used to play with Iliana in the garden on good days.

“Is there no way we can work together?” Iliana asks.

The tribute from district 11 barely raises an eyebrow. “I work better alone”, she replies coldly. She lifts her dagger. Buries it in Iliana’s body.

“No!” Dimitris cries. He grips Sadik’s arm tightly, eyes wide. “It’s a trick! It’s not real!” Even as he says it, the canon goes off. Iliana’s face shows on the screen, with her dreamy expression. Dimitris starts sobbing.

Sadik pulls both the boys onto his lap and presses kisses to their heads, trying to sooth them. His own sorrow will have to wait until later. Until he can lock himself into his room. “It’s going to be okay”, he murmurs.

“Iliana is dead?” Berkant asks.

“She’s not dead!” Dimitris insists, trying to fight his way out of Sadik’s arms. “She’s alive! I’m going to find her! I’ll prove it!”

“Dimitris”, Sadik says softly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Dimitris bursts into tears. They roll down his cheeks, creating paths. “She’s not dead”, he whispers, then leans into Sadik’s chest and starts sobbing loudly.

“Dead?” Berkant asks again, his eyes spilling over as well.

Sadik holds them both, not saying a single word. 


	21. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary  
> Gilbert Beilschmidt - Prussia  
> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Roderich Edelstein - Austria

The ruins is a good place to hide. That was the sole reason Elizaveta fled there in the beginning. It is well into the third day of the Games. Past noon. In district 5, they are probably having dinner now.

She sighs as she stares out at the sky. It is grey and heavy with rain. If she wants to get back to the ruins before it starts pouring down, she will have to move soon. She does not want to be caught in the rain again. In the morning, she was surprised by heavy rainfall that appeared to come out of nowhere. Her clothes still has not dried.

She climbs out from under the rock and starts on her way back up the hill. As long as the sun was out, it was warm, but now the air is raw, cold and moist. Twice she slips, but eventually the ground levels out and she is in the ruins. Here, thankfully, it is not as much dirt as in the forest, but it is still wet and she still leaves a track. She will just have to hope no one wants to be out in this kind of weather.

She makes her way up the stairs winding up through one of the half-ruined houses, towards the wall that once must had surrounded the place. Once she is at the top of the wall, she crouches down and crawls the few meters along it. She can see her hide-out. A barely visible window one can only reach through the tree growing up from the wall.

A sound beneath her makes her flatten out. She lays still, listening. Someone is walking down there. Her heart picks up speed. It is one of the other tributes, definitely. She must act, or she will be spotted.

Her gaze falls on some loose slabs of stone. She crawls soundlessly towards them, then starts pushing. Even though the wall is falling apart, helping it collapsing is hard work. By the time she gets them to move, she sees the rain coming towards her like a wall. Whoever is down there, must had found something interesting. Maybe a snare or something.

She gives the slabs one final push. They stand at the edge for a second, then topple over, falling the five or six meters to the ground. The person down there shouts out. Maybe he is not alone? The thought makes her stomach tie itself into a tight knot. She should have considered that.

Carefully, she peeks over the edge. Down there, she sees him. Blond hair, pale skin. He is fighting his way out, but suddenly stops moving. Elizaveta’s eyes narrow slightly. The canon has not fired. He is still alive. Then she spots his hand – or at least what she sees of it. It is locked in place between two large slabs.

She pulls back quickly and continues towards her shelter. The rain has reached them now. It is heavy and cold. She hauls herself up in the tree. In through the window. Collapsing at the floor, she dries her face and lets her hand continue through her hair. _What have I done?_

For a second she sees her childhood friend, Gilbert, laughing at her and pulling at her hand. “Come on!” he calls gleefully.

“Where are we going?” she asks, but follows none the less.

“You’ll see!”

He leads her through some streets, all the time holding a firm grip of her hand. They wind up in a garden. He pulls her up to the stairs and pushes her inside. Then he puts a finger to his lips and gives her a meaningful glance.

Gilbert leads her up the stairs, skipping one of the steps. She does the same. He pushes open a door, and suddenly they are standing in a bedroom. He drops the act and walks straight over to one of the beds. Reaching in, he brings out a bundle. When he turns back to her, he is holding a baby that is probably no more than a year old. The baby cracks open his eyes. They are pale blue, like the winter sky on a good day. He stares first at Gilbert, then at her. Blinks once. Then closes his eyes.

“This is Ludwig”, Gilbert introduces in a quiet voice. “It’s his birthday today. One year.” He hugs the baby closely. “Isn’t he awesome?”

Elizaveta swallows at the memory. She clearly remembers how proud Gilbert had been the first time he led Ludwig to school. He pointed out all the teachers and his friends, and pointed out the people Ludwig would do well in staying away from. As both grew, their brotherly bond became stronger.

It is true, Elizaveta and Gilbert are not as close as they used to be. That might partly be because she has a relationship with Roderich, and Gilbert and Roderich argue over everything. But he is still a friend. Will he be it, even if she returns, knowing she might just have sentenced his little brother to a most painful and slow death?


	22. District 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany

Feliciano stares out from the little window of his room. Out there, the rain is falling heavily. The air is wet and cold, and he does not dare light a fire, for fear of being spotted. It might be that no one is out in this weather, but he still does not want to take the risk.

Just outside his window, is a small garden. He searched it the first day, and has discovered plenty of herbs and other plants. There are some potatoes, but those must boil, and without a fire that can hardly be done.

Beyond the garden, he sees the wall going around the ruins. As he watches, he suddenly sees something move. He squints and leans forward. A little earlier he heard a shout and rumbling noises, but he has not seen anything. Now he sharpens his gaze, surveying the bottom of the wall again.

He is certain he sees someone moving. Then there is silence.

The person out there appears to be stuck, and in pain. It must be awful, out in this weather. Without thinking it over any more, he gets up and climbs out through the window. He steals himself across the garden, then quickly jumps down the few steps to the ground. In fear of being spotted, he lays down and crawls across the open space between himself and the wall. When he makes it there, he gets up and presses his back against the wet stone.

Some small stones loosen as he walks along the bottom, and the sound is enough to alert the person. “Who goes there?” the person, one of the male tributes, asks, his voice partly distorted due to pain. “Stay away! I’m armed.”

“So am I”, Feliciano replies in a whisper. “What happened to you?” He now sees the man clearly. Blond hair slicked back, but with some strands that has fallen loose. Pale blue eyes. Broad chest. His left hand is stuck between some slabs and it looks utterly painful. A dagger lies just out of the man’s reach.

Carefully, Feliciano approaches and reaches out for the dagger. “You’re from district 5 – Ludwig something.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrow. “Quit the chatter, and stay away from that dagger. I’ll kick you.” He shifts, even though it causes him pain, and puts one of his legs between them, as a threat.

Feliciano jolts back, and Ludwig appears somewhat relieved. Instead, Feliciano sits down on the ground and eyes him, curious at who this person is. Everyone back home always said he was too curious for his own good.

“You’re that boy”, Ludwig says, recognition crossing his face in a brief moment, before it becomes threatening. “Vargas.”

“Feliciano Vargas”, Feliciano confirms, smiling. “But most people just call me Feli. How about I call you Lud?”

Ludwig turns his face away. “No.” It is as though he has an inner debate with himself, and when he glances up, his face has gone hard as diamond. “Just get over with it, Vargas. Kill me, and you’ll be one step closer to going home.”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Feliciano exclaims. Why would Ludwig assume that?

“Then why are you here?”

“I want to help.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrow. “Tributes in the Games never help. It is always kill or be killed.”

“Then, I’m afraid you have met only the poor kind of tributes. I am not going to kill you, whether you like it or not. I want to help you.”

“That attitude will get you killed.”

“Why do you care?”

Ludwig is silent for a long while, staring but not seeing. Finally, he lets out a sigh heavy with pain. “Can you move the rock?”

“Not if you can’t.” Slowly he moves in a circle around Ludwig, until he is at the left side and can get a good view of the damage. He pokes Ludwig’s arm, just above the wrist, and Ludwig tenses up. Broken. Then he tries to push at the stone to free the hand. He pushes so hard, his body starts trembling with the effort, but in wain. It does not budge. He collapses, brushing his hair out of his face and breathing out.

“I did not expect more”, Ludwig says, then leans back and closes his eyes. “It would be easier just to kill me. Use my dagger.”

“I’m going to help you!” Feliciano protests. Suddenly an idea hits him. He goes back to pick up the dagger. Weighs it in his hand. Checks the edge. Sharp. He returns to Ludwig’s left side and cuts off a long strip of the t-shirt he wears underneath the jacket. He rolls up the sleeve of Ludwig’s jacket, past the elbow. Then he takes the strip and binds it around Ludwig’s arm, just above the elbow. He tightens it as much as possible.

“What are you doing?” Ludwig asks in a whisper.

“I’m going to cut you free”, Feliciano replies, picking up the dagger. His gaze drifts up and meets with Ludwig’s. “I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to trust me.”

Ludwig groans softly. “It would’ve been easier if you killed me.”

“If I get you out of here, I can treat it. I know how to use herbs.” A thought occurs to him, and he cuts off another strip of his t-shirt. Then he searches the ground for a stick. Good thing there is a tree standing not too far away. Some sticks lays on the ground and he picks up one of them, wrapping the cloth around it. He returns, handing it to Ludwig. “Bite this, so you don’t bite off your tongue.”

He renews his grip of the dagger and takes a deep breath, calming his nerves. No matter what happens, he has to try. He glances at Ludwig. The man has closed his eyes tightly, and his body is steeled.

“Relax”, Feliciano instructs.

“Easy for you to say”, Ludwig manages around the stick.

“Think of something you cherish. District 5, for example. Think of your parents, or if you have any siblings, think of them. At the interview, you said you have dogs. Think of those. Imagine that you return home, and they come to meet you. Wouldn’t that be great? I bet they would love to see you again.” As Feliciano talks, Ludwig relaxes slightly. His lower arm has become noticeably paler, since the bloodstream has lessened. “I bet you have a girlfriend, or at least admirers. Would it not be great, coming home and finding someone to share your life with?”

Ludwig’s breath evens out. Deep, calm breaths.

Feliciano cuts. He grits his teeth, trying to make it as even as possible. Ludwig has tensed up again, and his breath comes in short gasps.

Another cut.

Ludwig grunts.

_I should’ve gotten some of those pain-lessening herbs_ , Feliciano thinks, but too late is too late.

The knife reaches the bone. He continues cutting.

By the time Feliciano can drop the dagger, Ludwig is close to passing out. Despite the lessened bloodstream, there is plenty of blood on the ground. Feliciano pulls the arm away from the slabs and moves the binding further down, so blood can run nearly as far as the wrist. Then he cuts off another part of his t-shirt and wraps it around the wrist, allowing it to suck up blood.

He gets up and takes a firm grip of Ludwig’s good arm. He pulls at it, and slowly Ludwig reacts. Lets himself be dragged up, but supports himself on Feliciano. Feliciano staggers under the weight. Slowly, stumbling, they make their way towards Feliciano’s hideout. He manages to get Ludwig up the few steps that makes the stairs, and in through the window. Then Ludwig collapses on the floor, cradling his stump of an arm.

Quickly, Feliciano lights a fire. He makes it as small as possible, and finds an iron pot filled with water. It is a wonder, all that lies around if one digs in these ruins. He jumps out the window again and searches the garden for the right type of herbs. Finding them, he collects a few, before rushing back inside. He peels off some of the leafs. Then he approaches Ludwig with them.

Ludwig is barely conscious.

“Here”, Feliciano says softly, showing the leafs. “Chew these. It’ll lessen the pain.”

Ludwig lets Feliciano put them in his mouth, then chews them slowly, as if each movement is a pain. But slowly the lines of pain in his face lessen somewhat, until he drifts off into a restless sleep.

Feliciano finds some other herbs and boils them. He removes his t-shirt and cuts most of it into strips. Some of them he soaks in the water, then settles to clean the wound. The pain awakes Ludwig, but soon after it is done, he drifts off to the same restless sleep.

Hopefully, some sponsors out there will show mercy and send something that might speed the healing.


	23. District 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura Krusen - Belgium  
> Tim Krusen - Netherlands  
> Yao Wang - China

_Cr-rack_.

Lightning flashes across the sky, followed only seconds after by thunder. Laura pulls in underneath the closest tree, staring up at the sky and waiting for the next flash and rumble. Tim joins her a second later. They are both drenched to the bone, and the water only continues pouring down, just as it did the previous day.

They have survived three days. This is their fourth. Yesterday, nothing happened. No canon. No deaths. There are still fourteen tributes in the arena, all of them hoping to be the lucky one to return.

“Lets go!” Tim has to shout to be heard over the next rumble of thunder, and points out a tree a few meters further forth.

Crouched, they sprint towards it. The branches stand low, and they pull in under the tree in hopes of finding some shelter. At least it does not rain there. Yesterday day they had to move, because the river began growing and their shelter was flooded. They lost all of their food, and barely managed to rescue weapons, the bottle and ropes.

Now they are at the same ground as the Cornocupia and the careers. Laura scans the hillside they are climbing, and spots a hole. It is partly covered by branches, but she still sees it. She points it out to Tim.

They are off again, running with their jackets pulled up to their ears. Tim is the first one to dive into the hole. Laura follows at his heels. At first, they have to crawl, but then the roof rises so they may stand crouched.

“At least it’s dry”, Laura whispers.

Tim clasps a hand over her mouth. _Shut up_ , he mouths. He removes his hand again, and unsheathes his dagger. Then he sneaks further in. Laura follows a little behind.

A sudden sound before them startles her, and she nearly hits her head in the roof. Tim makes a sudden movement, and a cry of pain rings out of the darkness. It is not Tim’s voice, that much Laura is sure of.

Before her, it sounds as though someone is fighting with bare hands. Then someone hits the wall.

“Are there anyone else down here?” Tim snarls.

Silence.

“Speak!”

“No”, comes a gurgling whisper. Then a cough. “Only… me.”

The canon goes off.

“Move”, Tim commands. He pushes past Laura and out through the entrance. Behind him, he drags a body. Tentatively, nearly afraid to see, Laura follows him.

As Tim drops the body in the rain outside, Laura recognizes it. It is the boy from district 8, Yao Wang. His ponytail has slipped down and some of his hair is plastered to his face. There is a bad bruise at his jaw, and blood has run from his mouth down his chin. He has a cut in the shoulder, and blood continues to pour out. His jacket is soaked, so he must have a broken rib. That explains the blood on his chin.

Laura turns to Tim, and finds him holding his dagger in a trembling grip. It is red from blood. “You killed him…” she whispers.

Tim pulls himself together and cleans the dagger on some wet moss. He sheaths it and returns, climbing into the cave. Laura follows him, knowing they must let the hovercraft come gather Yao’s dead body.

“You killed him”, she repeats once they have reached the end of the cave, and lit a smokeless fire.

“He would have killed us”, Tim replies.

Laura says nothing. Disgust at her brother’s actions swell up inside her, and she swallows hard, trying not to throw up. 


	24. District 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Kirkland - England  
> Petra Oxenstierna - Sealand  
> Allistor Kirkland - Scotland  
> Dylan Kirkland - Wales  
> Seamus Kirkland - Northern Ireland  
> Francis Bonnefoy - France  
> Alfred F. Jones - America

It is impossible to tell what time of day it is. All Arthur is aware of is that it is not night any longer. He has a nice small shelter in one of the trees. With rope he has stolen from other tributes, he has built a roof and three walls. The last wall is covered with branches woven together. He has one blanket. Now he has cuddled up against one of the walls, desperately wishing for a cup of tea and a good book to drive away the storm.

He leans his head against the wall, and his thoughts goes to the girl from district 2. Petra. She must had died sometime after their encounter. Her face showed in the sky. Even though he never really knew her personally, he still feels her death as a loss.

He pulls his legs up to his chest and hugs his knees.

About twelve years ago – more accurately eleven and a half – his family had consisted of himself, his older brother Allistor and his two younger brothers, Dylan and Seamus. He had been barely four, and the only reason he remembers it so vividly, is because of Allistor’s stories.

One stormy day in September, his mother had given birth to a baby girl. According to Allistor, it had lasted for long, and afterwards their mother nearly promptly fell asleep, the girl cradled in her arms.

Everything appeared fine. Both Allistor and Arthur were immensely proud of having a sister, and would tell anyone who asked of her (whenever their father mentioned this, Allistor would firmly deny it).

Nearly half a year passed.

Then, of some reason, their mother began growing quiet and worried. One morning she took the girl outside, and never returned. About a week later, her body was found in the outskirts of district 9, but the baby was nowhere. Their father demanded for a search to be made, but it was always denied. For two years he kept demanding, until a working accident killed him off.

Arthur and his brothers were shipped off to their cousins – who none of them got partly well along with – and stayed there until Allistor came of age last year. As soon as the reaping was over with, and it was clear Allistor would be safe, all of them gathered their money and bought a small house with two rooms, a combined kitchen and living room, and a bathroom. They moved there, and worked hard to defend it.

Now, Arthur imagines his brothers sitting there around the table, maybe having a quiet lunch or playing cards. Dylan is probably even more quiet than usual, while Seamus is trying to lift the mood with bad jokes. Allistor is most likely is usual grumpy but caring self, and maybe – just maybe – tries to laugh a little at Seamus’ jokes. Maybe.

The storm passes overhead, and the rain lessens.

At one point Arthur’s stomach starts rumbling. After nearly an hour of this, he digs into the backpack he stole from the Cornocupia while the careers were off, and pulls forth a small bundle. Opening it, he finds two oatcakes and a small chunk of cheese. That is all that is left from what he originally had. It was never much, despite his efforts to divide it over the days.

Slowly, to make it last, he eats the oatcake and the cheese. He drifts off into a light slumber, his hunger stilled for a short time.

When he wakes, it has stopped raining. Instead, the wind has picked up making his tree sway dangerously. He is thirsty.

Carefully he makes his way down the slippery branches and stem, until he has both feet planted on the ground. Then he starts moving, hiding under low branches and making himself as small and invisible as possible.

The last meters he sprints. He bursts out from the treeline, already halfway to the river by the time he notices the person standing there with the back to him. He instantly recognizes the fancy wavy hair, cut a little under the shoulders. District 1. He will never understand why they have adopted the Capitol-trends. And what is it with long hair? It only gets in the way when one is working.

Bonnefoy starts turning, and Arthur leaps at him. They both fall to the ground, narrowly missing the river. The glimpse of a metal is all the warning Arthur gets, before sharp pain rockets through his left shoulder. It was aiming for his chest, but misses. Thankfully.

Arthur rolls away and pulls the dagger out of his shoulder. His t-shirt is already soaked in blood. He takes a firmer grip of the new weapon, ignoring his shoulder that is starting to feel numb.

Bonnefoy heaves himself to his feet, fists raised and ready to fight. He jumps forward, throwing out two punches that Arthur barely dodges. “I knew I would have to face you”, Bonnefoy says in between the punches.

Arthur dives under another punch, grips Bonnefoy’s wrist and pulls him out of balance. A push to the chest is all it takes before Bonnefoy is on his back, fighting to get up. Arthur takes a hold of his shoulder and slams his back into the ground. Bonnefoy gasps, the breath momentarily knocked out of him. Pinning him down with one knee on the chest, Arthur stabs Bonnefoy, missing the lunges by inches. He pulls the dagger out and falls back a few steps. First now the pain of his own wound overcomes him, and he presses a hand against it.

Bonnefoy is clutching the bloodied cloth, breathing heavily. With each breath, more blood trickles out from the wound. Slowly, his body becomes limp, and his breaths becomes shallower and shallower. Then the canon fires.

Arthur gets off the ground. He grips the dagger tightly and moves upstream, allowing the hovercrafts to come gather the dead body. He wonders what the girl, Bonnefoy’s sister, will make out of it. Maybe she will come after him, wanting his blood? Or no. That was not the impression he got of her. She will probably only be more set on winning.

As he moves further up, he finally judges it far enough away, and he kneels by the river, washing his hands, then cupping them and sipping water. He drinks until his thirst is satisfied, then unbuckles the belt keeping the jacket in place, sheds the jacket and pulls off the t-shirt. Carefully he investigates the wound, flinching when he touches the edges.

He washes it, then cuts up his t-shirt into strips he can use as bandages. He makes sure to wash them properly first, before he binds his shoulder. It is difficult work with one hand, and he has problems making it stay in place afterwards. Seeing it as the only solution, he pulls on the jacket. At least it keeps the ‘bandages’ somewhat in place.

Movements beside him makes him shoot up from the ground and clutch the dagger. A boy with grimy glasses and messy blond hair is kneeling just a few feet away, drinking from the river. Astonished by not having heard him and not having been attacked, Arthur simply stares at him. When the boy is done, he sits back and smiles wearily at Arthur. Sky blue eyes twinkle slightly. “I guess we’ll have to fight.”

Speechless by this simple statement, it takes Arthur a few moments to find his voice. When he manages, he clears his throat. “I am surprised you have not killed me yet.”

The boy shrugs. “Arthur, right? I’m Alfred.”

Arthur frowns. This is not part of the Games. The different tributes are not supposed to be getting along like this. “I don’t care what your name is. Why have you not killed me yet?”

Again, Alfred avoids the question. “Just thought you might like to know who you’re going to fight.”

“Who says I am going to fight?”

“Isn’t that the deal with these Games? That we act like animals fighting over territory?”

Arthur thinks. It is true. The Games is all about showing the districts just how cruel the Capitol can be, and make the tributes kill each other. And, of course, to amuse to citizens of the Capitol. “It is stupid”, he blurts out.

Alfred laughs. “Yeah. If I ever get out of here, I’m going to build a proper rebellion, and we’re going to throw over Snow and everyone else.”

“You should not say that aloud!” Arthur exclaims, horrified. Did this boy have no brain?

“It’s not like they can do me anything more harm”, Alfred replies. “I’m already in here.”

“What about your family?”

“My family is safe enough. It’s not like they are going to make a rebellion.” He picks himself off the ground and unsheathes a knife, throwing it at Arthur’s feet. Then he unsheathes another knife and a dagger. “Might as well fight on equal terms.”

Arthur picks up the knife. “I still do not get why you sat down to talk first”, he objects.

“Haven’t had a proper talk with anyone in a while. It was nice, for a change, don’t you think?”

Arthur agrees soundlessly, lifting his weapons. His shoulder still hurts and bleeds. Without wasting another moment, he leaps forth, lashing out with the dagger. Alfred parries it with his own, throwing out the knife. Arthur pulls back, avoiding the knife, and instead follows up by diving under the defences, grazing Alfred’s chest. Nearly immediately, his hand is locked and he is forced to drop his knife. The grip is stronger than expected.

Before Alfred has a chance of delivering a blow, he kicks. He hits the back of Alfred’s knee, and they both tumble into the river when Alfred loses balance. Arthur sinks under water, but thankfully Alfred’s grip disappears so Arthur can get to the surface. He barley has enough time to blink the water away, before Alfred jumps him and they go underneath again.

They mostly restore to physical strength, and Arthur is doing his best to keep out of Alfred range. However, he receives a bad blow to the jaw and probably gets a broken rib along the way, before he manages to heave himself up on the shore. He crawls away, but a hand grips his ankle and he is yanked back.

He rolls over on his back, and finds himself staring at Alfred. Water drips from Alfred’s glasses and hair. Arthur flings himself forward, despite all his wounds, and buries the dagger in the middle of Alfred’s chest. For some seconds he hangs on, barely believing he has managed two fights in less than half an hour, before he becomes aware of the cold thing that definitely is not part of his body pressing into his side.

Arthur lets go of the dagger in Alfred’s chest and falls backwards on the shore. Alfred slowly joins him, gasping, each breath ragged. “Good… fight…” he manages, before he starts coughing. Two coughs, then blood gushes from his mouth and drips down his chin.

“Yeah…” Arthur agrees, fighting for breath as well. He has problems focusing on the grey clouds overhead.

Something falls beside him, and hair tickles his cheek. He tries to push it away, but finds no strength. His shoulder is bleeding again.

The grey clouds lighten, until they are white.

It would be nice, seeing his brothers again. Fierce, red-headed Allistor… Dylan, with brown hair and greener eyes than any of them… Seamus with bright orange hair and blue eyes, like their mother…

A canon fires.

Somehow, his mind conjures up the idea that Alfred must be dead.

The world becomes a white, comfortable haze, then disappears all together. He thinks he hears another canon, but is not quite certain, as his body goes numb and he bursts and floats upwards, lighter than air.


	25. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary  
> Gilbert Beilschmidt - Prussia  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam

Sometimes, Elizaveta curses her own stupidity. Like now. If she had just thought of putting up snares, she would not have to walk two hours each way whenever she needed food. Mumbling every single curse she knows – which is quite a lot, thanks to Gilbert – she ties the last knot of her third snare. Then she gets up and grabs her bundle of fish.

The wind pulls at the trees around her, and plays with her hair. She finds herself wishing for rain, so it can conceal her tracks to and from her hideout. And, maybe it could conceal a small fire and smoke.

She huffs to herself and pulls the collar up to her ears, climbing the hill to the ruins. It would be much easier to follow the path, but that would also make her an easy prey. On the other hand, if she followed the path, maybe the other tributes would think she was self-confident and not afraid of meeting anyone else.

Better stay hidden.

She continues climbing, until the sound of something cutting the air before her makes her dive. _SWISH_. Something passes just over her head, followed by nearly soundless steps. Elizaveta rolls away, back down the way she came, dropping the fish in the process. She fumbles for her own weapon – a piece of glass from the ruins. It is sharp enough to cut skin, but not strong enough to stand any blows.

Before she gets it out, her attacker is at her again, aiming for her throat. She rolls around once more, scrambling to her feet and raising her clenched fists.

Standing before her, with a raised dagger, is the female tribute from district 11. Lien Chung. Her score was 11 out of 12.

Elizaveta rushes forward, ready to deliver a blow, but Lien simply side steps. Elizaveta turns, throwing them both to the ground in an attempt of getting the upper hand. It works for a few moments, and she bruises the left side of Lien’s face badly. She pulls forth the glass and aims for Lien’s throat.

Lien twists and hits Elizaveta in the stomach with her knee. Elizaveta gasps in surprise and pain. She drops the glass by accident, and instead lifts a fist to punch Lien again, but Lien gets away and hauls herself up in the closest tree, looming and ready to jump.

Elizaveta pushes herself off the ground and backs up. _Never turn your back on an enemy_. She remembers the words clearly, and she has no intentions of doing it either. “Well, come on!” she urges. “Are you not going to kill me?” She could swear Lien smirks.

“I will”, Lien assures.

But she does not attack right away. Elizaveta stands there, regaining her breath and rubbing her knuckles. They are bruised, but not as badly as Lien’s face. Even from a distance, she sees that Lien’s face is already swelling up.

Very suddenly, Lien jumps. Elizaveta jumps aside, but Lien catches her hair, forces her head back, and-

Suddenly there is little air. Her collar is drenched in blood in a matter of seconds. She barely feels herself falling and hitting the ground. Does not hear Lien disappear between the trees. She tries to make a sound. Gurgling. The pain is overwhelming, and soon enough darkness gathers at the edges of her vision.

Lien cut her throat. The thought is unwelcome and unpleasant. She wanted to cut Lien’s throat as well, but she never imagined it would take so long before a victim died. It feels cruel.

Darkness engulfs her. She will never wake again.


	26. District 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lukas Bondevik - Norway  
> Louise Bonnefoy - Monaco  
> Francis Bonnefoy - France  
> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Petra Oxenstierna - Sealand  
> Ivan Braginsky - Russia  
> Mikkel Bondevik - Denmark  
> Emil Bondevik - Iceland

It is quiet. Not that it was not quiet before, but ever since Petra died, the silence has been deafening. Now it has been penetrated by the canon three times in short succession. Lukas watches his other teammates. Louise is pacing back and forth, waiting for Francis’ return and occasionally glancing up at the sky. That is all she has been doing for the past two hours, ever since the canons fired. Berwald, on the other hand, is permanently stationed in the mouth of the Cornocupia, sorting through everything that is there, and re-sorting it. If he was little talkative before, he is even less so now.

Letting out a soft breath, Lukas drops back on his back and stares up at the grey clouds passing over-head. He misses bickering with his brothers, and hearing the sound of the seagulls over the sea. When he closes his eyes, he can nearly imagine he hears them, calling their complaints to the sky while waves wash up on the shore or crash against the cliffs.

“Get up”, Louise orders, pulling him out of his daydreaming.

Lukas turns his head to glance at her. She has stopped pacing and is now glaring at him, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

“We are going to look for him.”

“Give it another hour”, Lukas replies, closing his eyes. “He will be back soon.”

He chokes and his eyes flies open when Louise grabs the front of his jacket and t-shirt, pulling him up in a sitting position, their faces inches apart. “We will go search for him. Now.” She drops him and straightens, checking her weapons.

Lukas rubs his neck and gets up, picking up his sword and sheathing it. He glances over at Berwald. “I will go with her. Will you stay here to keep watch?”

Berwald simply nods, then returns to sorting their resources in piles around him.

Louise leads the way along the shore at a brisk pace, following the trail Francis left behind. After all the rain, the ground is wet and the lake and river is running over its edges. Another day of rain and the whole plain where the Cornocupia rests will be flooded. The wind from earlier has ceased, leaving only a soft breeze.

Before him, Louise shudders visibly. To her, the breeze probably appears cold and wet. Lukas has no problems with it, because of the occasional storms that would hit the coast of district 4.

He stares ahead, when a feeling of danger makes him freeze. He stops up, unable to move another step forward. It is a feeling of danger and – possibly – death. His mind is screaming at him, telling him to turn around this very instant and bolt back to the camp.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Louise has stopped and is watching him, waiting for him to follow her further up the river. “Get a move on.”

“We have to go back”, he replies, turning. He sees the Cornocupia as a small dot off the shore. Their tracks wind back there, to where Berwald is still sitting. He scans the field around their campsite. There is nothing that proves a danger. The grass is just as green as always, and no one would manage to hide there. It is too low for that. Berwald is sitting peacefully at the mouth of the Cornocupia, sorting resources. _Then what is it?_

His sense of danger grows. He starts walking back, quickening his pace with each step. Behind him, Louise is shouting for him to stop and explain. But there is no time. Not when an arrow is flying straight for where Berwald is situated.

“LOOK OUT!” Lukas yells, grabbing for his sword.

Berwald glances up, just in time for the arrow to hit him in the chest.

Lukas runs faster than he has ever ran before. Faster than that time when he and Mikkel were racing from the boat-house to their house in the better part of the district. Faster than when he was running late for bringing Emil to the reaping. The ground nearly disappears underneath his feet, and the sound of Louise shouting behind him is drowned in the sudden silence that encloses him.

Coming up from the river is the surviving tribute from district 12. Ivan Braginsky. He is soaking wet, and holding a bow. Now he slings it across his shoulder, in favour of unsheathing a sword of his own. A wicked-looking blade with two-hand hilt. He is headed straight for Berwald, and Berwald is just sitting there, looking stunned. Ivan lifts his sword, soon close enough to strike.

Lukas dives in between them, parrying Ivan’s blade. _CLANG._ He drives Ivan backwards, away from Berwald. Over his shoulder he shouts, “For the hell of it – get up, Berwald!” He barely jumps in time to avoid his legs being swept away underneath him by Ivan’s sword. “Shit!”

He lands, swinging his sword towards Ivan’s chest. Ivan’s sword comes up, parrying with enough strength to make him stagger. Ivan presses on the sword, making Lukas’ knees tremble. He puts all of his weight on his own blade.

Thankfully, he is not alone. Louise comes out of nowhere, leaping up at Ivan’s back and seizing a fistful of Ivan’s hair. She has one of her deadly knives in her hand, lifting it to cut Ivan’s throat. The weight on Lukas’ sword lessens and he pulls back, renewing his stance. Ivan throws his head back, hitting Louise in the nose. She tumbles off, and the knife is buried in Ivan’s shoulder.

Lukas glances behind. Berwald has started regaining his senses. He has broken off the end of the arrow and picked up a sword, ready to join them.

“Stay out of this!” he shouts. “You’re –” Again Ivan’s sword comes to meet his own, and he is forced to be quiet.

Berwald comes to his side, and Ivan pulls back, swinging his sword in large arches to keep them at bay. Somehow he has turned them around, so he is against the Cornocupia. Louise comes to their side. Her nose is bleeding badly, and every few seconds she wipes it on her sleeve.

“You’re in no condition to fight!” she tells Berwald.

“Don’t worry”, Berwald simply replies. His breath catches slightly, possibly because the arrow has penetrated one of his lunges. He leaps forward, slashing out towards Ivan.

Ivan catches the sword, sliding his own down to the hilt and twisting. The sword is wrenched out of Berwald’s hand. Before neither Lukas nor Louise has the time to aid, Berwald stumbles backwards, doubled over and clutching his chest, wheezing.

Lukas and Louise simultaneously jump forward, their weapons raised. An attack on their teammate was an attack on the whole team.

Ivan swings his sword. It slices across Louise’s abdomen and hits Lukas in the side. Lukas barely feels the pain. Barely feels his clothes becoming soaked in his own blood. He just feels a sudden rush of fatigue. He falls to the ground. With a trembling hand he finds the wound, tracing the edge. It is deep. He is lucky if he survives it.

Beside him, Louise tries a new attack, throwing one of the knives ahead of her and holding two others in her hands. Ivan dodges the first and the second knife, while the third sinks into his abdomen. He hammers the flat side of his sword against Louise’s head and she goes down. He lifts his sword again and thrusts it into her chest.

Even from a distance, Lukas hears bones break. The sound sickens him.

The canon fires.

Then Ivan turns to him. With the tip of the sword he lifts Lukas’ head. Lukas glares up at him. Waits to feel the cold blade, slick with Louise’s blood, bite his own flesh. Now he starts feeling the pain. He waits for it to end.

As a slight haze blurs the edges of his vision, a thought occurs to him. All of Panem will watch this. Meaning district 4. Meaning Mikkel and Emil. He swallows. He cannot let them down. Not when there are so few tributes left. Not when there still is a chance he can survive.

He pulls away from the sword, lifting his own. His side throbs, as though his heart has moved. With a roar he charges, his sword pointing straight at Ivan. He knows Ivan’s sword will take him down. Knows he will not live long after this. This is the last strike he gets.

The distance is so short, and the attack so surprising, the sword finds flesh. He falls back and pain is added to the side of his head. He is bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow. The blood slowly trickles down and drips into his eye. He wipes it away, only to see Ivan staggering backwards, then turning and fleeing. He has no idea where he hit, but it did not kill his opponent.

For a few seconds he simply stands there, trying to make sense of what has happened. Then he turns around as quickly as his pained body allows him. Louise is soaking in her own blood. He somehow makes his way over to her. She is staring blindly up at the clouds above them, not a single breath lifting her chest. There is no spirit left inside her. Just an empty shell.

Lukas closes her eyes, his own hands trembling slightly from the effort of moving.

He gets up, one hand pressed against his side as he moves over to Berwald. He carefully kneels beside the older.

“Thanks…” Berwald breaths. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. He coughs weakly. More blood. “For the support… You’re… a good person… Your brothers… can be… proud…”

Lukas tilts his head slightly. For a second, there are two Berwalds in front of him, then he blinks and it passes. “You did well yourself”, he replies softly.

“I… must…”

Whatever Berwald must, Lukas will never know. A tremor runs through Berwald’s body, then he lays perfectly still, his eyes unseeing. A white, shimmering mist rises from his body, for a second taking the shape of Berwald. He inclines his head and offers a slight bow. No words, because spirits cannot talk. Then the breeze of the arena pulls him apart.

The canon goes off.

Lukas scrambles to his feet one last time and slowly makes his way towards the water. Water has always been his place. A safe place. Somewhere to escape. It is now as well. He wades into the lake, his legs heavy and his body tired. But he continues.

When the water stands nearly to his wound, he turns, just in time to see hovercrafts picking up Berwald and Louise. In their own way, they are safe. He salutes them one last time.

He turns away. Cups his hands under the surface. Slowly, so not to spill any water, he lifts it and splashes it in his face. The cut burns. He turns his face to the sky, blinking away a white fog. Something warm that is not blood mixes with the water from the lake. The pain slowly fades to numbness.

“Emil, Mikkel… I hope you are watching”, he says towards the sky. It is nearly white now. “Know that I love both of you, and that even though you cannot see me, I will always be with you.” He has not smiled in days, maybe weeks, but now the corners of his mouth rise into a soft smile. “It is raining now, but who knows, maybe it will be sunny tomorrow…”

He falls backwards, into the water, the smile still at his face.

Everything is white.

_Maybe it will be sunny tomorrow…_


	27. The Families

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiku Wang - Japan  
> Young Soo Wang - South Korea  
> Mei Xiao - Taiwan  
> Allistor Kirkland - Scotland  
> Arthur Kirkland - England  
> Dylan Kirkland - Wales  
> Seamus Kirkland - Northern Ireland  
> Alfred F. Jones - America  
> Matthew W. Jones - Canada  
> Roderich Edelstein - Austria  
> Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary  
> Timo Väinämöinën - Finland  
> Erland Oxenstierna - Ladonia  
> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Louise Bonnefoy - Monaco  
> Lukas Bondevik - Norway  
> Mikkel Bondevik - Denmark  
> Emil Bonedvik - Iceland

Young knows what ‘dead’ means. He understands that when a person is ‘dead’, the person will not come back. He will not be able to hug the person, nor talk to the person. The person stops existing.

Mei is dead.

Now Young understands why Kiku is so sad. Kiku will never be able to kiss Mei again.

The recap of the first death of the day flashes across the screen. Young is sitting at one end of the sofa, hugging a pillow. On the other end of the sofa, Kiku is sitting. They watch as the boy from district 7 kills Yao, then tugs him out of the small cave and lets the hovercraft come gather him.

The sofa shifts, and Kiku rises. He disappears upstairs. The door closes.

Young stares at the screen, eyes wide. Big brother is dead, just as Mei. His chest hurts.

Upstairs it is quiet.

Carefully he puts the pillow aside, then climbs the stairs. The door to Kiku’s room is closed. Young tries the handle. The door swings open. Silently he enters. His gaze goes to the bed where Kiku is laying, his back against the room, hugging his duvet. He is trembling slightly.

Young crosses over to the bed and climbs onto it. He wraps his arms around Kiku from behind, burying his face between Kiku’s shoulder blades. Kiku is not as big brother, but it is all Young has. He shuts his eyes firmly and bites his lower lip.

Kiku shifts. Turns and pulls Young against his chest.

Young blinks quickly, then lets the tears fall. Pressure builds in his chest, until he releases it in a quiet sob. It is followed by many more. But Kiku is there, holding him, despite crying silently as well.

* * *

 

Dylan watches the screen silently. To his right, Seamus is making bad jokes again, trying to lighten the mood of seeing their brother nearly die at the hands of Francis Bonnefoy. To his left, Allistor is sitting, arms crossed tightly and glaring at the screen, eyes slightly narrowed.

Arthur is standing before the tribute from district 5, Alfred F. Jones. Arthur is quick and acts on impulses. Alfred is stronger than expected. When Alfred locks Arthur’s hand, Arthur kicks Alfred and they both fall in the river. Arthur breaks the surface seconds later, spitting water. Then Alfred comes up and they go under again.

The living room is far too quiet. Even Seamus has stopped making jokes. Dylan bites the inside of his cheek, his heart pounding fast, as though he is the one fighting underwater.

Arthur kicks himself up on the shore, but Alfred follows, dragging him partly back. Then Arthur pushes himself up and jumps forward. His dagger sinks to the hilt in the middle of Alfred’s chest.

Seamus laughs, throwing his head back and saying, “He’s not hopeless, after all!”

Allistor visibly relaxes and chuckles. He gets up and walks to the kitchen, probably to get a small drink.

Dylan frowns. Something is wrong. Why does neither Alfred nor Arthur move? Arthur falls back. There is a dagger stuck in his side. Alfred’s dagger.

“No…” Dylan breaths, eyes going wide.

“A drink for Arthur!” Allistor says as he returns, holding three glasses and a bottle. Even though Dylan has his back to him, he hears the smile in his voice. Then the sound of glass shattering against wooden floor. “What…?”

“Jones killed Arthur”, Dylan whispers.

The silence in the room is thick enough to be sliced with a knife. All three brothers are slowly taking it over themselves that Arthur will return in a coffin. Dylan tries to imagine a future without Arthur and Allistor fighting on a regular basis. Without Arthur snapping at Seamus’ jokes. Without himself rushing home after school to rescue the dinner from Arthur. Without Arthur being the first to get up in the mornings to prepare tea and a simple breakfast.

He swallows.

The imaginations hurt.

He swallows again. Tries to get rid of the burning sensation in his throat. Tries to breath properly. He clenches his fists to keep them from trembling.

The silence is penetrated when Allistor spins around and rushes outside in the dark of the late evening. The door slams shut behind him. “I guess… that’s it, then”, Seamus says, his voice breaking slightly. He gets up from the sofa and disappears to another part of the house.

Dylan is left alone. He does not bother to turn off the television. Instead, he closes his eyes, still trying to breath properly.

* * *

 

Watching Alfred die was never one of Matthew’s wishes. Sometimes he hated his twin-brother, and wished Alfred had never existed, but underneath that he still loved him – because they were two sides of the same coin. Alfred was loud and always the centre of attention, while Matthew was quiet and mostly forgotten.

Matthew hugs his plush polar bear tightly, burying his face in the fake fur. The fabric beneath absorbs his tears.

It feels as though a piece of his heart has been ripped out. As if a gash has opened, and it will never close, because there is no one and nothing who can fill the gaping hole left after Alfred.

* * *

Roderich tunes his violin. This evening, it cries whenever he touches it. It mourns, just as much as he does. Carefully he plays a slow mournful tune. While he plays, his last evening with Elizaveta replays in his mind.

 

_It was a comfortable evening. Not to cold, nor too hot. They sat outside his house, a soft breeze playing with their hair. Stars glimmered over their heads. Roderich hummed a soft tune with Elizaveta leaning against his chest._

_“See those stars?” Elizaveta pointed up at the sky, gently interrupting him. He glanced the way she pointed. “If you connect time like this”, she moved her hand slightly, “it looks nearly like a heart.”_

_Roderich chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You are lovely.”_

_She turned in his arms, their noses nearly touching. She brushed a thumb across his cheekbone, then removed his glasses and closed the distance between their lips._

_His arms around her tightened and he closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness._

 

Roderich lowers the violin, sighing. His gaze falls on the small box that stands open at the table. He had planned to give it to her when she was of age. In the box, a ring of silver glimmers. Now, he will never have a chance to ask her.

He leaves the violin at the table and closes the box, leaving the room.

* * *

 

Timo stares at the screen. He could be watching the recaps with Erland – he _should_ be watching the recaps with Erland – but does not feel like being in Berwald’s house. Now, seeing Berwald, Lukas and Louise fighting side by side against Ivan, he does not know whether he is glad he is alone or not.

Berwald’s sword is wrenched from his hand, and Ivan swings his sword, leaving a gash across Berwald’s chest and breaking several ribs in the process.

Timo whimpers, his hands flying to his mouth to keep it in.

Berwald doubles over, backing up, slipping and falling. The thump when he hits the ground sends waves of shock through Timo.

“No…” Timo whispers, unable to tear his eyes off the screen. “No! Please, no…” He is barely aware of what he is saying.

The tribute from district 12 steps over Berwald’s limp body, continuing fighting against Lukas and Louise. But the camera zooms in on Berwald. Blood soaks the front of his jacket. The expression of pain on Berwald’s face appears to go everyone by, but Timo notices it too well. Berwald lifts his hand. There, amidst blood and grime, is the ring Timo gave him. “I’m sorry, Timo”, he whispers. “So… sorry…” He coughs slightly, and a small bubble of blood explodes from the corner of his mouth. He closes his eyes, fighting just to keep breathing.

Pictures continue rolling. All Timo hears, is Berwald’s last words. _I’m sorry, Timo. So… sorry…_ He has never thought it possible to feel such pain. His heart feels trapped. His chest is too small. It feels as though he is being choked. His hand goes to his throat, expecting to find a rope or hands there, but nothing. He gasps. Then the tears spring out. Burning hot against his skin. The colours of the screen smears out and he gets to his feet, stumbling. Has to move.

Berwald is dead. He is not coming back. Will never come back. Neither will Petra. Timo sobs, but it is far from enough. Crying is not enough to express the immense pain at the loss of Berwald. _Berwald._ The thought of him throws Timo’s thoughts back to when they first met. During the break, Timo was chased by some other children. Then Berwald was there. A tall, strong boy, just a year older than himself. Asked what was going on. They met many times. Timo was the one doing the talking, and had at first been a little scared of the quiet giant. Then he discovered how gentle and warm Berwald was. The first time they hugged in a hidden corner of a garden. And the first them they…

A loud sob escapes Timo. He does not care if anyone hears him. More sobs. Each tells a story of the pain he feels. His legs give out and he collapses on the floor, crying, sobbing and rocking back and forth, hugging himself.

* * *

 

Mikkel is cleaning the bakery, polishing the counter and covering up what is still left of bakery. In the corner, the television is playing the recaps of the deaths. As usual, Emil is sitting there, pretending to be reading for school, but actually following the recaps quite intensely.

“What do you want for supper?” Mikkel asks. “We can have the bread you baked earlier today.”

“Sure”, Emil replies, his head dropping down to pretend he is reading. After a few seconds, he glances up again.

Mikkel hides a smirk and shoots a glance at the screen, in time to see Lukas, sitting on the ground with a red rose of blood on his side and still bleeding. The guy from district 12 is standing before him, holding his head up with a sword.

Then Lukas renews his grip of his own sword and attacks the other. The other is not prepared for the attack, and tries to take off Lukas’ head. He only manages to graze Lukas’ forehead. Then he fleas, leaving Lukas standing there, bleeding and probably dying.

First, Lukas goes to the girl from district 1, then to the guy from district 2. When both are dead, Lukas rises and goes towards the lake. _Probably dying._ He limps slightly, one hand placed over his side, as if he is trying to stop the flow of blood. _Probably dying._ He wades into the lake, until the water reaches him nearly to the waist. Then he washes his face, before turning to the sky.

“Emil, Mikkel… I hope you are watching”, he says.

Mikkel is barely aware of how he has dropped everything he was holding and is staring at the screen, unable to turn away. Emil is the same.

“Know that I love both of you, and that even though you cannot see me, I will always be with you.” Lukas smiles softly. “It is raining now, but who knows, maybe it will be sunny tomorrow…” _Dying._

Then he falls, the smile not wavering.

Mikkel stares at the screen, only seeing Lukas’ blue eyes and blond hair. He remembers a time when he himself was still only two years old, but was the first to star into the same blue eyes. He remembers seeing shadows in them. The same that he had seen in his grandfather’s eyes before his grandfather died. He had thought that this weakling was his brother. That he would protect him, no matter what. The look in those eyes captured his heart, and for a long while there was place for only those.

Those blue eyes are unseeing now.

The bell over the door tinkles a merry tune as it opens, then slams shut. _Emil_.

Mikkel spins around, finding his younger brother disappearing down the street. He tears off his apron and follows. Running down the street, he sees Emil turn the corner. He speeds up, barely avoiding an elderly couple along his way.

When he comes to a crossroad, he stops, glancing both ways. Where did Emil disappear? Taking a guess, he continues running. His feet lead him through the poorer area and to the boathouses. He slows slightly so not to slip in the grass as he makes his way towards the stony shore. The lights of the last houses never reach this far, and the moon and stars shine clearly. This was where he, Lukas and Michelle used to come. Now, Emil is standing there, staring out across the sea.

Mikkel quickly closes the space between them, encircling Emil with his arms. Emil clearly is not surprised, and fights to get free. “Mikkel, let go!” he yells. “I don’t need comfort! I’m not a kid! Just leave me be!”

Mikkel only tightens his grip, refusing to let go. For once, he says nothing.

Emil struggles, trying to push free, but eventually stops and simply stands there. Then Mikkel lets go. Emil is staring at the ground, fists clenched. “I… I never called him ‘big brother’”, he then whispers. His voice breaks and he starts to tremble.

Again Mikkel embraces Emil. Emil’s arms wrap around him, clenching the back of his shirt. “I know”, Mikkel replies softly, at loss of anything else to say. He closes his eyes, letting the tears spill.


	28. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Gilbert Beilschmidt - Prussia  
> Folkert Beilschmidt - Germania

Ludwig groans. He frowns. In his half-asleep state, his body feels numb and cold. As he gains consciousness, warmth returns, together with pain. The pain is centred in his left arm, but his whole left side appears to be throbbing. Carefully he cracks his eyes open, taking a deep breath. He lets it out, trembling slightly.

He is laying in a small room. On the floor is a tiny fire, and on the eastern wall is a window. By the fire stands a pot of water, and some strips of cotton lay there. Moss is laid out and resembling a bed. The owner of the bed, however, is nowhere to be seen. He scans the room again, but there is no door. That means it cannot be that far above the ground, or it would be impossible to get in, and the window is the only way in and out.

He is suddenly aware of how dry his throat is. His eyes lock on the pot. Would it be possible to drink that water? He sits up, gritting his teeth as his arm touches the floor. A jacket that is not his own falls off him. He pushes it away and somehow moves over to where the pot is standing. Getting a hold of it with his right hand, he lifts it to his nose and sniffs it. It has no particular smell, which might mean it is clean.

What had happened? He stares down into the water, trying to see if there is anything floating in it. Sand, grass, maybe bugs. The memories come back in a rush. The stones falling from the wall. His hand trapped. Vargas approaching him and cutting off his arm. Pain.

Sounds just outside the eastern wall makes him freeze. He searches for his dagger, then realizes it is not there. Somehow, the fact that Vargas has disarmed him, makes him feel safer. Vargas would not do anything stupid – or would he?

In the morning light, a large backpack is thrown through. It rolls over the floor and comes to a stop just a step from the fire. Then a brown-haired head appears, followed by the rest of the person. Feliciano Vargas tumbles through the window and lands in a heap at the floor. He is gasping, clutching his side. He is wearing neither t-shirt nor jacket. After long seconds, he sits up. First now he becomes aware of Ludwig sitting there, holding the pot of water. Vargas smiles brightly.

“Morning!” he says cheerfully. “How are you?”

Ludwig has no idea how to react. In a way, he should probably be thankful to this boy for giving him a chance to survive the Games. However, is it safe to trust him? It could be Vargas was just waiting, choosing his time for killing.

“I have been better”, he settles for, putting away the pot and returning to his spot on the floor. “How long have I been out?”

“About two days”, Vargas replies. He digs into the backpack, bringing out a bundle of clean bandages, a box of salve and a small bottle. He brings it over to Ludwig’s side, and Ludwig flinches away. Vargas smiles that bright smile again. “I’m not going to hurt you”, he assures. “I just need to have a look at your arm so you don’t get an infection! That would be much worse.”

Ludwig looks closely at the salve and bottle. He recognizes the salve from home, and the bottle apparently contains a liquid labelled ‘STERILIZED WATER’. He lets Vargas treat his arm. It is painful, and most of the time he is nearly unable to watch. All the time, Vargas keeps up a light chatter.

“You’re probably curious of what has happened and what I’ve been up to. And where I got that backpack. You see, yesterday all the careers were taken out. I don’t know who did it, but I took a chance, since I knew you would need clean bandages. So, while it was still dark, I sneaked down to the river, crossed and got to the Cornocupia. I don’t think anyone got there before me. At least it was deserted, and all of the supplies were neatly sorted, so it was easy to pick through.

“On my way back, I nearly crashed into one of the other tributes, but got away, thank God. I put up some traps just outside the ruins. Hopefully there’ll be something edible there by dinner time.

“Anyway! It looks all right. No infection, and I think it is healing well. Don’t do anything stupid, and you should be patched up in no time!”

Ludwig glances down at the newly wrapped arm. He lifts it, carefully examining it. Strange, the feeling of not having a hand, and still being able to feel as though he has a hand. He drops his arm to his lap and frowns at Vargas. “Why are you helping me?”

Vargas blinks, uncertainty showing clearly in his face for a few seconds, then he smiles again. “Well, I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“You could have left me to die by the wall.”

“That would be no good, now, would it?”

“It would have been easier for you.”

“But I didn’t want to do it!” Vargas’ voice pitches slightly. He bites his lip, averting his eyes. Quickly he gathers the old bandages, the salve and the bottle. He puts it away in the backpack.

“Why?” Ludwig prompts.

For a very long while, Vargas says nothing. He sits there, picking through the contents of the backpack. There is a clean pot there, and two bottles filled with water. He pours water into the pot and puts it to boil. “I…” he starts hesitantly, but trails off. He pulverizes some leafs over the water. A sweet scent fills the room. He laughs weakly. “I don’t know”, he says.

Ludwig instantly recognizes the lie. His frown deepens. Why was Vargas lying? What did he get out of not telling the truth?

He decides not to trust Vargas yet. It might be that the boy was more of a back-stabber than he appeared to be.

The morning passes by in relative peacefulness, and after some time Ludwig grows tired and drifts off to a light slumber. Until dinner, he drifts in and out of sleep. Fever hits him, and feverish dreams of Gilbert, his father and his dogs keep him from peace. He wakes once when Vargas insists on changing the bandages. When Ludwig wakes next, it is cold. Outside it is dark. The fire is still alive, but the room is abandoned except for himself.

“Vargas?” he asks carefully. The light blanket he has feels way too warm and he throws it aside.

It is quiet for a few seconds, then Vargas climbs through the window. He is carrying a dead rabbit. Lightly slung over one shoulder he has his jacket. His upper body is wet. How long has he been gone? He drops the rabbit by the fire, then kneels before Ludwig, bringing their foreheads together. Ludwig wants to pull away, and after a few seconds, Vargas lets him.

“Your temperature is still too high”, Vargas notes, “but lower than it was earlier this morning. You should have some water, and then go back to sleep.” He brings a bottle half-filled with water, and Ludwig downs it quickly. Vargas nods satisfied.

“Where have you been?” Ludwig questions, although fogginess is quickly taking over his mind already.

“Checking the snares”, Vargas replies softly. “You should sleep. It helps.”

Ludwig lays back down. He does not particularly like taking orders from the boy, but knows that sleeping will do him well. Vargas covers him with the blanket, but he does not protest. The darkness behind his eyelids is soothing, and when a cold, wet cloth is placed on his forehead, he lets out a soft breath.

_He stands in the street before his home. His heart leaps with joy. Home! He can finally see Gilbert and the dogs and his father again! He hurries up to the door. It is open. He steps through. Muffled voices are coming from the living room. Entering, he finds his family sitting there. Gilbert is sitting in the armchair, hunched over and pale. Folkert is sitting before Gilbert, holding Gilbert’s hands tightly. The dogs are begging for attention, peeping._

_“It’s a lie”, Gilbert croaks, a trembling, false smile pulling at his lips. There is a letter laying on the floor. “A hell of a lie.”_

_“Gill…” Folkert says, desperation clear in his voice. “I do not want to believe it either, but-”_

_“It’s a lie!” Gilbert yells it into Folkert’s face. “Lud isn’t dead! He’s going to come back! I know he will!” Then, Gilbert breaks down, sobbing._

_Ludwig stands there, staring. He opens his mouth, trying to say, “I am right here”, but not a single sound escapes his mouth. Is he dead? What has happened? How? He glances down at himself. His left hand is missing, and as he watches, His legs start disappearing. It spreads, and his abdomen, chest and arms disintegrate. His throat disappears, and finally his head. The last he sees before darkness swallows him, is Gilbert leaning into Folkert’s embrace and the dogs peeping, and he thinks,_ I am dead.

 

Ludwig wakes with a start. The embers in the fireplace fills the room with a soft glow. The window is covered over, keeping out the cold of the night. He is slightly surprised to find Vargas laying beside him, sleeping peacefully.

After staring in confused silence for a few seconds, he finds something to drink, then lays back down and rolls over on his side. Vargas shifts in his sleep, muttering something that sounds a lot like, “I want pasta”.


	29. District 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura Krusen - Belgium  
> Yao Wang - China  
> Tim Krusen - Netherlands  
> Henry Krusen - Luxembourg

Laura keeps the arrow at the string, waiting patiently behind the bush. On the other side, is a clearing with a tiny pond. The water is clean, so animals probably come there to drink. If she waits long enough, something should come by.

Just as the thought passes through her head, a hare comes out from the opposite side of the clearing. Laura lifts the bow. She likes it, and is glad she rescued it from the Cornocupia the previous day. She aims at the hare. It is barely six meters away, and the air stands still. She fires.

The hare jumps and disappears the way it came. The arrow stands harmless in the ground.

With a sigh, Laura gets up and goes to gather it. Really, her heart is not in the hunting, nor is her mind. Instead she keeps thinking of how easily Tim killed that boy a few days ago. When was it? Two days ago? Three? She rubs her temples, trying to focus on the hunting again, but to no avail. That boy was Yao Wang, district 8. He was hiding, hoping to survive. And he probably had a reason for it. Who knows, maybe he had a family waiting for him? Siblings? Maybe a girlfriend?

Laura closes her eyes tightly, forcing her thoughts onto another path. It will do her no good to keep tormenting herself this way.

She heads back to her bush, when a roar carries towards her, followed by the sound of metal clashing against metal. She freezes, then takes off towards the tumults. _Who…? What…?_ Every step appears like a whole minute, and when she finally arrives, it is quiet. Her brain forces her to stop between the trees and scout for any danger. Her heart screams for her to dash towards the shattered body at the ground. Even from a distance, she sees his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

A twig snaps behind her. Before she gets the chance to spin around and defend herself, a slick blade slides into her back, narrowly missing her spine. Her breath catches, and upon glancing down, she sees the point of a sword or a dagger that has impaled her. Strangely enough, she feels nothing. Just a dullness that slowly spreads from the wound. The world goes foggy for a second.

The weapons is pulled out of her and she falls to her knees. She stares at the ground before her. There is green grass and soft moss. How wonderful it must be, to lay down and sleep, forgetting the troubles of the world.

But there are ragged breaths just some meters away. She forces herself to her feet, supporting herself by one of the trees. Barely able to stand, she stumbles the rest of the way and collapses beside Tim. There is blood at the side of his head. That appears to be his only damage.

“Tim?” she asks carefully, finding one of his hands. She holds onto it, feeling the warmth slowly disappearing.

“Laura…?” he mutters. His eyes flickers back and forth, as though they are searching for something. “I do not… see you.”

Laura swallows. Her body is cold and numb, but she grips his hand tighter. There is no response. “I’m right here”, she replies, keeping her voice steady. “Right here…”

He breaths out. “Will you… survive? Will you… go back to… Henry?”

Before she is aware of it, she is crying. She did not believe she had the energy left to cry. Now she knows for sure. Even though he is dying, Tim is worrying about her. He loves her, and only wants for her to live a good and happy life. To take care of Henry.

She lays down beside him, her head at his chest. She barely hears his heartbeat. “I’ll live”, she replies, still gripping his hand. Even the pain of the lie is numbed.

“Then I… can be… happy…”

The heartbeats cease.

Laura listens intently, but Tim says nothing more. When the canon fires, she knows he is dead. The tears on her cheeks would have been burning, had she felt them. The world is slowly turning white and foggy. Barely able to utter the words, she says, “I love you…”


	30. District 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivan Braginsky - Russia  
> Natalya Braginsky - Belarus  
> Sofia Braginsky - Ukraine

_Boom. Boom._

Ivan blinks, slowly waking from his sleep. Honestly, he would have preferred the forgetfulness of sleeping and dreaming. He could have been home in district 12, coming home from school to finding Sofia preparing dinner. Natalya would have come running after him, hugged him and refused to let go.

He takes a deep breath. It hurts. The careers probably broke some of his ribs. He glances down at himself. Tentatively he opens the jacket. The right side of his chest has some red and blue bruises, and it is swollen. Further down is a – in theory – harmless wound given to him by the career from district 4. He has bled quite a lot, he realizes. His gaze trails down to the wound at the inside of his thigh, just above his knee. That was what it cost him to get a hand on a bow from the Cornocupia. He examines it carefully. He should have paid more attention to it, he realizes, because now it is turning a shade of yellow and green, and the skin around has some red lines. It hurts touching it.

He gets to his feet and glances about, trying to decide which way is the shortest to the river. His throat is dry, he is thirsty, and he probably has a fever coming. Shuddering he starts off in a random direction.

The day is cold, and the air smells of rain and possibly thunder. A part of his mind recognizes the danger of heading towards the river if more rain is coming, because more rain will for sure mean a flood.

Every step makes his head throb even more. He shivers violently.

After some more steps, the ground very suddenly comes to meet him. He hits it hard, eyes tightly closed. A soft groan escapes his lips. Very slowly, he pushes himself over on the side and pulls his legs up to his chest. The grass and moss is soft against his cheek.

It is terribly cold. His head hurts.

Suddenly he hears quiet steps. They approach him. Maybe he should get up and run? Fleeing would be the best idea, but the ground is so very soft and comfortable, and there just is no strength left in his body to move.

“Brother?”

He opens his eyes and turns his head. There is Natalya. She is wearing her usual blue dress, not the camouflage clothing they were dressed up in. Her hair is loose. “Natalya?” he whispers, unable to believe it. “You died, sister, did you not?”

She tilts her head. “I did?” She glances down at her hands. “No. You must have been dreaming, brother. Come on, now. Sofia is waiting for us downstairs.”

“What?” Ivan frowns, then forces himself up in a sitting position. There is his small desk. His schoolbooks. His clothes for the day are laying at the end of the bed he is sitting in. “But I was just in the Games?”

Natalya’s eyes widen for a second, then she rushes over to him and embraces him, hugging him tightly. “You’re not going to be reaped”, she says firmly. “Not if I’ve got anything to say to those idiots. Remember, you’re mine.”

Her touch feels real, just like all other times she has hugged him. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her just as tightly.

“Nightmares are stupid”, she declares softly, then pulls away. She keeps a hold of his hand. “Now, come on! We have to go.”

For once, Ivan does not protest. He lets her pull him out of bed and out of the room. Maybe everything was just a bad dream.

The world is white.


	31. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Alice Vargas - Female North Italy  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam  
> Julius Vargas - Grandpa Rome  
> Antonio Fernandez Carriedo - Spain  
> Lovino Vargas - South Italy  
> Romeo Vargas - Seborga

“We are only three left now.”

Ludwig glances up from his comfortable seating against the wall. Feliciano climbs in through the window. Outside it is blowing. Feliciano is still wearing nothing at his upper body. His t-shirt he ripped into strips to have bandages for Ludwig’s arm, and his jacket he insisted Ludwig keep to sleep on. Now he appears frozen to the bone.

“What do you mean?” Ludwig asks, although he knows exactly what Feliciano means.

“More tributes have died. Now it is only us and one more left alive. The game makers will try to herd us together soon.” Feliciano sits down by their small, now smokeless, fire and extends his hands towards it in an attempt of gaining heat.

Ludwig watches the boy carefully. Although he has slept away most of the days, he is slightly surprised to find he enjoys Feliciano’s company. Thinking about it, one of them – or both – will die. It strangely hurts.

He rises and picks up his blanket. This he places around Feliciano’s shoulders. It is a little clumsy, since he is still getting used to having just one hand. But his other arm is healing surprisingly well, and although it still hurts, it is not the numbing pain it used to be.

Feliciano glances surprised up at him, then adjusts the blanket and beams. “Thanks!”

Ludwig nods and returns to his place against the wall.

“You know, you’re very nice!” Feliciano laughs a little. “You look big, strong and scary, but underneath you’re soft and friendly. I like that about you, and I’m glad I decided to help you, and not just let you die!” Out of the blue, he asks, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Why do you ask?”

Feliciano shrugs. “I’m just curious. I’d imagine you have one, or at least someone you fancy. So…?”

“No.”

“You don’t? That’s a shame! Or maybe it’s just as well.” Feliciano’s face becomes sad. “That way, it doesn’t break anyone’s heart if you die.”

“I have a family, you know.”

Feliciano visibly pales. “Right…”

The room becomes quiet. Feliciano starts preparing food, while Ludwig loses himself in his thoughts. It could have been comfortable this way. Staying in a small place, healing. Living. For just a moment, he lets himself imagine the room as a house. That there is a door in the eastern wall, beside the window, facing the garden outside. That there is a bed in the corner, and the dogs are laying on the floor, sleeping.

“Hey, if you survive”, Feliciano says, “give my greetings to Alice, will you? She’s my cousin. And… I’m sure you’d like her. She’s very kind and outspoken. She’d have known how to heal your arm in no time. She’s much better at healing than me.”

“How about you survive and greet her instead?” Ludwig questions.

Feliciano laughs. “There are three people left. You, the girl from district 11 and me. My chances of surviving are less than your chances.”

Ludwig says nothing, because he understands Feliciano’s line of thoughts. Then and there, he makes himself a promise. If they both survive, Feliciano deserves to go home. His family deserves that little ray of light. It will hurt his own family, no doubt, but they will understand. They _must_ understand.

 

The wind had picked up speed, rain had arrived, as had thunder and lightening. It was an amazing show to watch, with the rays of electricity crackling across the dome of the arena. When the wind calmed and the rain disappeared just as suddenly as it came, the clouds cleared and the sun hung low in the sky.

Ludwig stands outside their shelter. The air smells clean and fresh after the downpour. From where he stands, in the small garden where Feliciano is currently examining some herbs, he sees the lake and the rivers. The lake has flowed over, and the patch where the Cornocupia used to stand, is gone. Most of the hill and forest there has disappeared, and the small islets that split the river have disappeared as well. He wonders where the last tribute is. If she was on the opposite side, she might have either drowned or been caught on the new island.

A sound a little further down the hillside makes Ludwig frown. He listens intently, but does not hear it again. It might have been only his imagination, but…

He takes goes to the edge of the plateau and scans the surrounding ground carefully. There is nothing there. He glances back at Feliciano. The other is happily oblivious to the fact that they might be caught on an island with the only other surviving tribute.  “I will have a look about. Stay here, will you?”

“Hm? Sure, but don’t go far, and be careful with your arm!”

Ludwig nods, then climbs down the stairs to the ground. The dagger which – thankfully – has been returned to him, he takes in a firm grip as he crosses the meadow towards the wall. This time, however, he keeps a safe distance. There appears to be nothing out of ordinary, so he soon leaves it, and instead goes to the edge of the forest.

What had that sound been? A twig snapping? A branch falling? A sword or a dagger thrust into the ground? Someone falling? He stares up into the trees. Maybe she is hiding there. He takes a better grip of the dagger. When she comes – because there is no doubt she will – he must act quickly. He is in no shape to keep up a long fight.

A thought suddenly occurs to him. This girl has survived incredibly long alone. She got 11 in training. She might not be the best fighter, but she is clever. Which means…

“Feliciano.”

A shriek confirms his suspicion. He turns and runs back towards the shelter. Why did he not see it? The girl had to be clever. She knew that it was easier to take both of them down if they were separated, than if they were together. Then she had made a distraction, and her way was clear.

Ludwig bursts out between the trees and continues at the same speed across the meadow. He sees her standing at the top of the stairs, just before Feliciano. His eyes focus on her neck that is hid by a long black ponytail. This girl… This girl was going to die for doing this. She is turning towards him. He makes it to the stairs. Takes two steps in one stride and lifts the dagger.

One blow.

That is all it takes. Her eyes widen, her mouth frozen and a nearly quizzical expression at her face. Then her body falls sideways and her head rolls in between Feliciano’s herbs. The canon goes off.

Ludwig lets go of his dagger and steps over her. Feliciano is laying on his knees on the ground. Ludwig drops down beside him, placing a hand at his shoulder. “Feliciano, are you all right? Did she…?”

Feliciano falls against him. “I’m sorry”, he says softly.

Ludwig turns him over, supporting his back with his hurt arm. Even when the pain shoots up from the wrist, it does not matter that much. Not when Feliciano is hurt. The edges of the wound appear to be repelling each other, and blood is already running. It is deep, just below the diaphragm. He presses his hand against it and glances about at the herbs. Is there nothing here to stop the bleeding? For once, he wishes he was a healer.

Feliciano’s head is heavy against his shoulder, and the breath is shallow.

“Just hold on”, Ludwig says, gripping tighter onto the body. “You will live. I will make sure of it. There has to be-”

Feliciano laughs airily, although the undertone of pain is impossible to ignore. “Hey, Lud, I think you should win. You should go home and see your family and… and your dogs. They’d like that…”

“No!” Ludwig exclaims. “You deserve to go home more than I do. Your family has lost two sons already! Your parents-”

“They’re dead”, Feliciano interrupts. To Ludwig’s horror, he is smiling. “I only have Grandpa and Alice. And Antonio, of course… Give them my love… Please…”

“You are not dying, do you hear me?” He shakes Feliciano’s limp body.

“’m sorry…”

“Do not apologize! You will live!” He glances about again, trying to remember anything about herbs. Anything at all. Nothing. Of course he knows nothing of herbs. There was never any healer in his family, and although he has been to the healer a few times himself, he never bothered to ask about anything. Never bothered to ask which herbs would stop bleeding, and which would not.

Feliciano stares up at the sky, likely not seeing anymore. Then he laughs again. “You might need another hand to bury me… ve…”

“That is not funny!” Even to Ludwig, the desperation in his voice is clear. He glances at the other dead tribute. They will want to gather her. Besides, he does not want Feliciano to lay here next to her. Carefully he lifts Feliciano into his arms and gets up. He climbs down the stairs and crosses the meadow. Follows the wall. All the time, he is aware of how Feliciano’s breath is becoming shallower. He finds a path that leads into the ruins, towards the large ruin in the middle of the place. The one he found the first day. When he finds it, he enters through one of the archways. There are long shadows on the floor, and when he climbs up to the dry fountain, he finds he can see the sunset perfectly.

Ludwig places Feliciano on the floor, then sits beside his head. He stares west, towards the sky colouring golden, purple and violet.

“Lud…”

The whisper nearly passes him by. He turns to Feliciano. “I am here.”

“My brothers are here… Lovino… and Romeo…” Feliciano smiles, his eyes finally closing and relief flooding his face. “Live… well…”

A second passes, then the canon goes off.

Feliciano was never a backstabber. He was just genuinely nice, with a sad story, and met his end with a smile. 


	32. The Families

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry Krusen - Luxembourg  
> Sofia Braginsky - Ukraine  
> Natalya Braginsky - Belarus  
> Ivan Braginsky - Russia  
> Bharat Ganraiya - India  
> Ratcha Anackak Thai - Thailand  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam  
> Alice Vargas - Female North Italy  
> Antonio Fernandez Carriedo - Spain  
> Julius Vargas - Grandpa Rome  
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Lovino Vargas - South Italy  
> Romeo Vargas - Seborga  
> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany

Henry bites his thumb lightly. He stares at the screen. There, big brother is laying on the ground, and big sister is crying. He blinks to keep the tears at bay. Big sister never cries. Why is she crying now? And why is not big brother doing anything to comfort her?

He sniffles. Big sister promises she will be coming home, but Henry knows better. Why is she lying?

He gets off the sofa and locks himself into his room. He climbs onto the bed and hugs the brown teddy bear tightly. It has a blue and white scarf around the neck. It was a birthday present from big sister and big brother.

The tears makes the pillow and teddy bear wet. He starts sobbing.

* * *

“Miss Braginsky? Are you all right?”

Sofia smiles at the baker’s wife, hiding the tears in her eyes. “I’m fine, thank you”, she replies. She takes a better grip of her basket with bread and rolls and exits the bakery. Slowly she makes her way down the small, grey street, towards the little house squeezed in between two larger buildings. It is in the better part of district 12. Outside she has a garden where she grows vegetables. Before the small income was barely enough to sustain the family and pay the rent of the house. Now it will be far more than enough. She will be able to buy the house and the garden, and maybe even repair the leaking roof.

She enters and closes the door behind her. The basket she places at the table. Then she goes to the living room. She has cleared one of the shelves. There is a picture of Natalya standing there, together with a white candle. Now Sofia pulls forth another candle and puts it at the shelf. She finds another picture, but this one of Ivan. She puts it beside the new candle. Then she lights both the candles.

Tears well up in her eyes, and she lets them run. She bows her head and folds her hands. A quiet prayer for the peace of her siblings passes across her lips. She stands there, crying, praying, until she is drained. Afterwards she makes herself a small cup of tea and finds a blanket.

Tonight she will sleep together with the memories of her siblings.

* * *

 

Bharat watches Lien on the screen. She is clever, he has to admit, luring the boy from district 5 away from the one from district 10. That way it is for sure easier to kill them. On the other hand, he has to admit he is slightly disgusted by all the blood his friend has spilled. There was no way around if she wanted to survive, but…

He glances sideways at Ratcha. The other is pale, staring at the screen with wide eyes. Bharat can nearly imagine he sees prayers pass across Ratcha’s eyes. He has known for quite some time that Ratcha has a crush on Lien, but seeing the tiny spark of hope in Ratcha’s eyes, he finds himself wondering if he will be the best man at their wedding.

Bharat turns his attention back to the screen, just in time to see Lien stab the boy from district 10. One tribute closer to getting home. She spins around, and…

Ratcha shouts out. A wordless shout. The hope in his eyes is crushed. Quickly Bharat turns off the television. There is no need in seeing Lien’s beheaded body any longer than needed. In fact, he wishes he had not seen it.

The room becomes quiet. Outside, a soft breeze is playing with the trees. Mockingjays sing softly, whistling tunes to each other. A pair rises above the others, the tones of a bird’s love song filling the air.

“She’s dead.” Ratcha is the first to break the silence.

There is no point in disagreeing. No point in lying. “Yes.” Glancing at Ratcha again, Bharat sees his childhood friend stunned in shock. He wonders if Bharat will ever get over it and be the same he used to be.

* * *

 

Alice stares at the screen, unable to quite understand it. This was more than she had hoped for. More than _they_ had hoped for. “He made it to the final three…” she says awestruck. “He actually… Grandpa! Antonio!”

A second later, Antonio drops down on the couch beside her, holding a bowl of salad in his hands, and a fork. There might be some pasta hidden in there as well, but she does not look too closely. Grandpa Julius drops his book and joins them, sitting at Alice’s other side.

They watch as the girl from district 11 approaches Feliciano. When he notices her, his face twists into terror first, then realization and acceptance. No words are exchanged between them.

It cuts to Ludwig Beilschmidt, the one Feliciano helped, wandering between the trees. Suddenly he stops, his face going slack and eyes widening. “Feliciano”, he murmurs. Then he spins around and runs back the way he came.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Antonio asks, his eyes glued to the screen. “Maybe he’ll…”

“Don’t”, Alice snaps, although the thought has occurred to her as well. Maybe Ludwig would get there in time to save Feliciano. Maybe it would turn out as all good movies she had heard of, and Ludwig would barge in just in time to save Feliciano’s life.

The girl from district 11 has Feliciano cornered. No matter what he does, she will take him. She stabs him, her expression bitter. Pulling away with her dagger glistening with Feliciano’s blood, she spins around, just in time for Ludwig to behead her.

Alice whimpers. Both at the beheading and the fact that Feliciano is going to die. Unless Ludwig kills himself. She watches as Ludwig tries to keep Feliciano alive, tries to keep him conscious, and when he carries Feliciano off, she is at the verge of tears. Barely noticing, she covers her mouth to keep from sobbing. All her good memories of herself and Feliciano flashes past her inner eye. That time when Feliciano found a stray dog that had hurt the leg and insisted they heal it. When they celebrated her fifteenth birthday. When Feliciano braided her a flower crown and drew a wonderful realistic portrait of her. That one she still kept in her room.

When Ludwig places Feliciano on the plateau before the fountain, and the sunset baths them in golden light, Alice bites her hand, trying hard to keep from sobbing.

“Lud…”

“I am here.” Ludwig turns to Feliciano.

“My brothers are here… Lovino… and Romeo…” Feliciano smiles, his eyes closing and his face wearing a final expression of relief. “Live… well…”

Hot tears run down Alice’s cheeks and she trembles. Antonio wraps his arms around her. His bowl of salad is forgotten. He is crying as well. Eventually, Grandpa Julius comes to hold both of them. Alice lets go of the pressure on her chest and sobs into her grandfather’s chest. Antonio keeps from sobbing, but he cries nonetheless.

When Alice’s sobs cease, one thought occurs in her otherwise empty head. She is grateful to Ludwig Beilschmidt.


	33. District 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert Beilschmidt - Prussia  
> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Folkert Beilschmidt - Germania  
> Blackie, Aster and Berlitz - Germany's dogs  
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam

Gilbert is standing on the platform. The only thing keeping him from dashing towards the train are the peacekeepers. He cannot wait to see Ludwig again. To think he gets his little brother back! He grins widely. The dogs are peeping, anxious to see their master again.

“Remember”, his father says softly, “Ludwig has experienced things we can not imagine. He might not be the same as when he left.”

Gilbert brushes it off easily. Ludwig is strong, and no change will make him unrecognizable. Instead, he turns his attention fully to the doors. Any time now. The camera crew is ready. Ludwig will come soon, just as good and healthy as when he left.

He waits. Seconds disappear into the blue. Ten minutes. The camera crew exchanges glances of worry. Finally, the door opens. Gilbert is on his toes, ready to burst forward. Then Ludwig steps out at the platform. His hair is slicked back as usual. His skin is spotless. He is wearing brown pressed trousers and a white shirt. His left hand is still missing.

The dogs peep and bark, all three of them prepared to meet their master. Then the peacekeepers step aside. Gilbert lets go of the ropes. Blackie, Aster and Berlitz bark with glee as they go to meet Ludwig. Barely having had time to take four steps, Ludwig kneels down to be at their height. He rubs them behind the ears, the necks. Talks softly to them. In return, they sniff him from head to toes, and Berlitz insists on licking his face.

When Ludwig eventually rises, Folkert comes forward to greet him. They embrace each other for a long while, not saying a single word. Then they let go of each other. Folkert pats Ludwig on the shoulder, and Gilbert can imagine their father is for once showing a tiny proud smile. Folkert steps aside, and the way is clear. There is nothing between the brothers. Gilbert’s gaze locks with Ludwig’s. There is something there that was never there before. Some sort of… age.

Ludwig’s hand moves, nearly as though he is reaching out. It breaks the spell, and Gilbert runs forward. His arms slip around Ludwig’s neck and he hugs him tightly. Ludwig’s heart is beating. He is breathing, warm and alive. There was a time when he would have lifted Ludwig off the ground to spin him around. Not anymore. There was a time when he would have jumped Ludwig – literally. Not anymore. But maybe…

Gilbert pulls away, his hands resting on Ludwig’s shoulders. “Man, have you grown another inch?” he laughs.

The corners of Ludwig’s mouth twitch into a small smile that reminds Gilbert of their father. “Maybe we should measure it when we get home”, Ludwig replies.

Gilbert laughs in relief. Ludwig can still play along with his jokes. That means he has not changed as much as Folkert feared.

 

The camera crew had filmed Ludwig taking a tour through district 5, ending at his house. Then they had interviewed him, Gilbert and Folkert before they left. The moment he was gone, Ludwig insisted they return to their old home.

Now it was late. Ludwig had gone to bed some while ago, claiming he was tired, and Gilbert and Folkert were up talking.

“He has changed”, Folkert says firmly.

Gilbert laughs it off. “How? He just needs some time to get used to being home again!”

“No, Gilbert. It is something deeper. I am not sure yet, but I think he might be carrying something. You must talk to him and keep him sane-”

“Dad, you’re not saying Lud’s insane, right?”

“Not yet”, Folkert says bitterly. “But with time, if no one is there for him, he will slip away. He has seen abhorrent things in the arena and experienced pain no one should have to experience.” He rises from the armchair he was sitting in, and pins Gilbert down with his stare. “You must be here for him, no matter the cost, do you understand?”

“I know where my responsibility lays!” Gilbert gets to his feet. “I don’t see why you’re worrying that much! He’s just the same as he always was, isn’t he?”

“That is what he wants you to believe! He locks his feelings into himself. He has always done that. Now is not a good time to let him do that.” Before Gilbert has the time to reply, Folkert has marched on. “I will be gone for some time. To anyone asking, I am not feeling that well and prefer to stay at home. When I come back, we might need to leave shortly.”

 

The next days passes quietly, except for the occasional camera crew that drops by once in a while, the interviews and the fact that Ludwig is partly moving to his new house in the Victors’ Circle. However, once the filming and interviewing is done, he moves back to the old home. He spends a lot of time with Aster, Berlitz and Blackie, and although Gilbert does not like to admit that their father is right, he notices how Ludwig sometimes distances himself. Sometimes, Ludwig simply stops up and gazes ahead, not seeing anything, as though he is in a trance. Other times, he is rubbing his arm, as though he still feels the pain. But what worries Gilbert the most, is when Ludwig refuses to join him at the pub.

One late night when Gilbert comes home from the pub, he prepares himself for bed. On the way from the bathroom to his room, he has to pass Ludwig’s room. He stops, hesitating and listening. Then he carefully opens the door and peers inside. Ludwig is laying in his bed, just as expected. Aster and Blackie are laying at the floor, while Berlitz is keeping Ludwig’s feet warm. Ludwig, however, is tossing and turning, mumbling in his sleep.

As soundlessly as he manages, Gilbert moves across the room. Blackie lifts his head and growls slightly, but then recognizes Gilbert and goes back to sleeping. Aster simply rolls over on his back, exposing his manliness to the world. Gilbert carefully sits at the edge of Ludwig’s bed.

Suddenly, Ludwig bolts upright, gasping. His eyes are wide and filled with fear as he searches for something to focus on. His gaze falls on Gilbert, and he visibly relaxes, then frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Were you having a nightmare?”

Unhappy with the answer, Ludwig shakes his head in denial.

Gilbert lifts his eyebrows. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

Ludwig says nothing. It is answer enough.

With a soft sigh, Gilbert takes Ludwig’s hand. It is long since that hand was smaller than his own. “What happened to you, in that arena? Don’t you trust me enough to tell me? Why don’t you share your bad experiences with me anymore?”

“I do not need to tell you everything.”

“But when you’re locking up like this, I worry!”

Ludwig’s eyes narrow slightly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, but some things shouldn’t be locked up like that! Some things you have to talk about to let go of them, learn from them, and become a better person!”

“Who said that?”

Gilbert clears his throat awkwardly. “Dad did.”

If Ludwig was a person to roll his eyes, he would have done so.

“But it’s true! Look, I don’t always like the fact that dad always ‘knows best’, but he usually talks from experiences! Now, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Ludwig stares suspiciously at him, but then sighs and lowers his gaze. “It’s the whole thing. The insanity of the Games. The pain we encounter. The deaths. The hopelessness of it all. When I was first thrown in there, my only thought was to keep going as long as I could and stay out of everyone’s way. But that was fine. I bothered no one, no one bothered me. Until those slabs.” He lifts his amputated arm as if to empathize. “The pain of all the bones in my hand being mashed is… indescribable. Then, when Feliciano came…”

Gilbert listens closely. His brother had never spoken of the boy he so badly wanted to save, and this was probably the only time it was going to happen.

“I thought Feliciano was going to kill me, and when he said he wanted to help me, I did not believe it. Losing the hand was… painful. Then, I honestly remember very little until my arm became better. Sometime during the days, I accepted the fact that Feliciano was an honest person. He was unable to kill anyone.

“Then, when Chung appeared, I thought I was going to save him. I thought Chung would turn to me when she heard me coming, and that she would kill me. Or that she would disappear. Instead, she killed him.” Ludwig trembles slightly. “And he just gave up! He did not try to protect himself! He just stood there and let it happen!” Ludwig rarely raises his voice. Usually, he quietly observes and talks when needed. Now he is nearly shouting. Then he breaks down. “I was prepared to die only so he could live on. His family deserved it…”

Gilbert gently pulls his younger brother into his arms and holds him tightly. “That boy-”

“Feliciano.”

“Feliciano. He made a choice. You should let go of it, and just live on.”

“But it is not only him. It is also Chung. Each time I close my eyes, I see her head laying between the herbs, staring lifeless up at me. And sometimes, she speaks. She reminds me of everything I could have done differently. She… she tells me I am useless, because I could not even protect one person.”

Gilbert holds Ludwig even tighter. “You are not useless. You are precious, and you always do your best. You are a neat freak. Everything has to be perfect. Before you left, you told me to stay out of your room. Remember? You were worried I’d mess it up.”

Ludwig says nothing.

“You are perfect, brother. Never forget that, please. And Chung isn’t your fault. It’s the Capitol’s fault. The Capitol makes the Games. If the Capitol didn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any Games, and if the Games didn’t exist, you wouldn’t have had to kill Chung.”

Ludwig says nothing, just trembles. Gilbert continues holding him, and listing all of his positive traits, and does his best to remind him why his family loves him.


	34. The Rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Gilbert Beilschmidt - Prussia  
> Folkert Beilschmidt - Germania  
> Aster, Berlitz and Blackie - Germany's dogs  
> Julius Vargas - Grandpa Rome  
> Feliciano Vargas - North Italy  
> Emil Bondevik - Iceland  
> Jia Long Wang - Hong Kong  
> Mikkel Bondevik - Denmark  
> Basch Zwingli - Switzerland  
> Roderich Edelstein - Austria  
> Henry Krusen - Luxemburg  
> Allistor Kirkland - Scotland  
> Sadik Karpusi - Turkey  
> Anotnioa Fernandez Carriedo - Spain  
> Lien Chung - Vietnam  
> Alice Vargas - Female North Italy

After that night, things loosened up a little. Ludwig talked more – although just in private with Gilbert – and occasionally joined him in the pub. When nearly a month had passed, their father unexpectedly turned up just after breakfast. He said he was being followed, and quickly explained something about a rebellion, and that it would be better if all three of them disappeared.

So, when darkness came, they packed their most needed things, then left. Now, having travelled for about two weeks, constantly on the watch for any followers, they were finally there.

“This is it?” Ludwig eyes the small house. It is a box made of concrete. There is probably space for no more than four people in there.

“And the rebellion is here?” Gilbert sounds just as doubtful as Ludwig feels. “Look, dad, unless it is a miracle-box you’ve got there, it’s barely space for the three of us.”

Their father sighs. He scans their surroundings, then disappears around the closest corner of the house. Berlitz bounces after, with Aster close in tow. Blackie glances up at Ludwig, waiting patiently. Ludwig exchanges glances with Gilbert. They were used to their father’s secrecy, but this was more than usual.

“Come on”, their father calls.

Gilbert shrugs, then follows. Ludwig scans the surroundings one extra time, just to be sure there is no one there, before he follows around the corner. There he finds Folkert standing, holding open a ledge. Gilbert is already disappearing down into the hole, carrying Berlitz. Knowing there is no way around, Ludwig lifts up Blackie and climbs down after. The tunnel is narrow, and when their father climbs down after them, carrying Aster, and closes the ledge, it becomes pitch black.

They keep climbing, until Gilbert announces that they have made it to the bottom. Ludwig tells him not to let go of Berlitz. When all three of them are standing with their feet on the ground, Folkert leads down a corridor that is just as narrow as the tunnel. The darkness is still pitch black, and Ludwig does not see where he places his feet. The dogs are getting restless, not enjoying the fact that they are being carried.

“Stop”, their father commands. The sound of four knocks is thrown back down the corridor. A bright pale blue light lights up, and a second later a part of the wall opens up. There is another corridor there, but this one is much cleaner and nicer than the previous one. The walls are covered with grey metal, and from the roof white light shines down.

“This looks like the Capitol”, Ludwig mutters.

“But it isn’t!” A glass door a little down the corridor opens and a cheerful man, probably between 50 and 60, with greying brown hair and an unruly curl comes towards them. “Welcome to The Rebellion, my friends! Folkert, I can’t express in words how glad I am to see you!” With that, the man goes straight up to their father and gives him a bear hug.

When the man lets go, Folkert clears his throat and straightens his slightly rumpled clothes. “Boys, this is Julius Vargas. Vargas, these are my sons, Ludwig, the youngest, and Gilbert.”

Julius Vargas’ smile saddens. “Ludwig Beilschmidt, tribute from district 5 and winner of this year’s Games. My family and I are ever grateful to you for what you did for Feliciano.” He extends a hand, and Ludwig accepts it. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

A little miffed, Ludwig shakes the man’s hand. Finally, he places him. This must be Feliciano’s grandfather. “Feliciano told me to give you his greetings and love.”

“Thank you”, Julius Vargas replies, the gratitude in his voice nearly overwhelming.

* * *

“Hey, watch your steps!”

Emil glances up from the book he is reading, just in time to find he is headed straight for a pillar. Behind him, some of the boys from his class are laughing. Emil hides his reddening cheeks by bobbing his head. Quickly he walks past the pillar. A little further down the corridor, a boy with brown hair and golden eyes is leaning against the wall. He is wearing the standard school uniform, and has his bag slung over his shoulder. He was the one to warn Emil of the pillar. Whistling a merry tune, he falls in pace with Emil.

“You’re annoying”, Emil finally grumbles. He knows the boy from his classes chemistry, but has never really talked to him. However, this boy has gotten him out of a few bad situations when his classmates have been picking on him.

“Totally nice meeting you too”, the boy replies. “So, Emil-”

“Do you have to use my first name?”

“-do you have a lot of homework to do today?” The boy smoothly ignores Emil’s protest.

“Not really, but I promised my brother to help him out in his new bakery today. The higher ups have asked for a sending of sweet rolls for a meeting”, Emil replies in a grumble.

“You would totally like to have dinner with me at the restaurant just down the corridor, right? I’m sure your brother won’t mind you hanging out with people your age.” He grabs Emil’s hands and pulls him along.

“But – hey! I don’t even know your name!”

The boy grins across the shoulder. “Jia Long Wang, now come along!”

* * *

Nearly three months have passed, and Ludwig is slowly getting used to the life in the rebellion. He wakes up to his usual time, eats breakfast, does his routines and talks with some of the neighbours. He is allowed to keep the dogs, and spends most of his free-time taking them out in the small area where he is allowed to let them run free.

He has met lots of new people, and discovered that most of the families of the tributes of the year have sought refuge in the rebellion. He has stumbled upon the younger brother of the tribute from district 2. There is the older brother of the girl from district 3, and the brothers of the boy from district 4. Although the oldest there, Mikkel, is loud and slightly annoying, Ludwig enjoys having a beer with him once in a while. Then there is Roderich Edelstein from his own district – whom Gilbert has taken it upon himself to ‘entertain’ as often as possible – and the twin-brother of the boy from district 6, as well as the brothers of the girl from same district. The oldest there is all right, Ludwig supposes.

From district 7, he has met a small boy named Henry, and from district 8 there are the brothers of the boy. When on duty, he meets Basch Zwingli, the brother of the girl from district 9, and Allistor Kirkland, the oldest brother of the boy from district 9. From district 10, he has met Sadik Karpusi, and on one occasion been introduced to his younger siblings. He has met Julius Vargas and Antonio, but not the girl Feliciano spoke of. Then he knows of the cousin of the boy from district 11, and the friends of Chung. The first time he met them, he was afraid they were going to have a huge grudge against him, but it turned out they were not as mad as he had expected. And finally, from district 12, there is the older sister of the tributes.

Now, he is sitting in a small inn that has been arranged to look nearly old-fashioned. Together with him, there are his brother, Mikkel and Allistor. He sips from his glass of beer, enjoying the taste to the fullest. With a half ear, he listens to the conversation. Mostly, he is content of being alive and able to keep his dogs. His father has told him that there are two rebellions going on. One is in district 13 and is a lot more targeted. The one they have here, no one knows of, and it is a lot more comfortable to live here. Julius Vargas is the leader of this crew, keeping Folkert, amongst others, as advisor.

Gilbert drains his glass and calls for another. A few moments later, a girl with thick, brown hair braided down her back appears, carrying a tray. She smiles, her golden eyes glimmering. She has an unruly curl.

Before Ludwig has the time to say anything, she has disappeared off to another table, dropping off more glasses of beer.

“Cute, isn’t she?” Gilbert comments, grinning from ear to ear.

Ludwig shoots his brother a glare, before emptying his own glass of beer and getting up.

“Hey, where are you going?” Mikkel questions. “It was just getting cosy!”

As Ludwig makes his way between the table and laughing people – most men – he hears Gilbert roaring with laughter. Heats rises into his face, although he is not quite sure why.

When he finds the girl, she is standing by the counter, getting a new tray loaded with glasses of beer. He casually leans against the counter, watching her from the corner of his eye. The more he watches her, the more certain he is. Finally, he clears his throat to get her attention. “Alice Vargas?”

“Yes, that would be me?” She smiles at him. “Can I help you with anything? I don’t believe we have met before?”

“No, I…” Ludwig trails off, not quite sure how to say what he wants to say.

Then Alice gasps. “You’re Ludwig Beilschmidt!” Her tray is completely forgotten as she stares at him. “Dear God, you…” She covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. When she lowers her hands, she courtly bobs her head. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“The honour is all mine”, Ludwig replies quickly. “I wanted to talk to you. About Feliciano.”

Her head jerks up, her eyes widening. “F-Feliciano?” Quickly she turns to the man behind the counter and tells him she takes her break now. Then she waves Ludwig towards the entrance of the inn.

In the corridor outside, it appears quiet compared to on the inside. It looks nearly like a street, and the lights have been reduced to only tiny spots, nearly like stars. Slowly they walk down the corridor, and Ludwig is nearly able to imagine he is back above the ground. He folds his hands on the back. He has never been very good when it comes to the other gender, but he had promised himself to do this. Lightly he clears his throat. “He… spoke of you.”

“He did?” Alice asks quickly.

“Yes. He told me to give you his love.”

They stop by what looks nearly like a square. In the middle, there is a fountain lighting up in red, green and blue. “Thank you.” Ludwig nearly jumps when Alice takes his hand. Heat washes across his face, but before he can say anything, she says, “I am glad you were with him. You probably don’t know, but when Lovi and Romeo died, Feli was broken. I thought I was never going to see him smile, or hear him laugh again. Then, in the arena, during his last days, you made him smile and laugh. That meant more to me than I can ever express, and I don’t think I can ever repay you.”

“Er… there is no need for that. I just tried to keep him alive.”

“And you did very well. He was more alive than I had seen him for a year. Thank you, Ludwig.”

Something wet hits Ludwig’s hand, and when he glances down, he finds Alice crying and smiling. The smile is the same as the one Feliciano had. Happy.


	35. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Alice Vargas - Female Northern Italy  
> Feliciano, Lovino and Rhea - children

“Hey! It’s today!”

Ludwig bites back a groan and turns over on his back. “It is always ‘today’.”

The laughter of two children fills the bedroom. “But today is The Day!”

He blinks the drowsiness from his eyes and sits up. He knows his hair is a mess, and his beard will probably need a cut as well. When his eyes finds the two children sitting at the bed, they squeal and scramble over each other to get out of his reach, and dive under the duvet. One is a little boy with golden brown hair that is currently in a mess, and golden eyes. The other little boy has darker brown hair and green eyes. Feliciano and Lovino. They are twins.

Ludwig reaches over and places his hand on one of the bumps under the duvet. The boy squeals. That’s Feliciano. He moves his hand to the other bump, and Lovino tries to kick him away. He sighs, the tiniest of smiles pulling at the corners of his mouth. “All right, boys, then maybe you should get dressed? Your uniforms are in the kitchen.”

The boys pull out from under the duvet, climb off the bed and race to the kitchen. Today is their first day of school, and needless to say, they are excited. Their older sister, Rhea, is third year. From the kitchen, Ludwig hears her exclaiming, “No uniform before you have eaten!”

With a sigh, he drops back in the bed. Alice throws an arm over his chest, nuzzling into his side. “Not helping”, he grumbles.

“Was the night that hard on you?” she mumbles teasingly, still half asleep.

“I am not twenty anymore.”

She laughs softly, then lifts herself enough to give him a kiss, before dropping back into the bed on her side, and pulling with her the duvet. “Take the boys to school. I’ll be up when you’re back.”

Ludwig swings his legs out of bed and gets up. His back screams in protest when he stretches. “See you later, sunshine”, he whispers, then retrieves his clothes from the end of the bed and heads to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, and - as cruel as it may sound - that I managed to break your feelings, at least somewhat. There will be no sequel to this, but I am planning a new fanfic based on the medieval times. If you are curious, you can find the blog here: www.ask-hetalia-medieval-times.tumblr.com
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading! ^^


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